


Last City

by zeitgeistic (faire_weather)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bottom Harry, M/M, World Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-30
Updated: 2014-04-30
Packaged: 2018-01-18 13:48:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 27,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1430767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faire_weather/pseuds/zeitgeistic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><s>Twenty-four</s> Twenty-three men, six cities, and one unusual sexual requirement.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sydney

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Последний город](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11113269) by [Jewellery](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jewellery/pseuds/Jewellery)



> **Golden_snitch12** asked for Harry on a wizarding version of The Bachelor with Draco as one of the contestants. Well. That’s what this is. Thank you to M for the amazing beta job and to S and K for the pre-reading and cheerleading, without which, this fic would never have happened.
> 
> FOLLOW ME ON TUMBLR for snippets, what I'm working on next, and to ask me anything :) [lol-zeitgeistic on Tumblr](http://lol-zeitgeistic.tumblr.com/)

# 1\. Sydney, Australia

“I hate you,” Harry said. 

Ron smacked him on the shoulder. Their eyes met and Harry was not amused to find that instead of the remorse a good mate should feel after subjecting one’s best friend to humiliation, said mate was instead well pleased with himself. 

“Yep,” said Ron. He beamed at Harry and Harry hated him even more for being so ridiculously photogenic. What a twat. Maybe if Harry was that photogenic he could’ve found a nice bloke on his own by now. “But you know what’ll comfort me in the long, lonely nights I’ll spend with Hermione watching your suffering on our magicbox?”

Harry grit his teeth. When he didn’t answer, Ron prodded him in the shoulder, and Harry managed to get out, “What.”

“It’ll be the fact that I’ll be too busy laughing my arse off over how fucking hilarious this is going to be.”

“I hate you,” Harry repeated. “I thought we were friends.”

“After this if you still want to be I’m totally down for it,” Ron said, still grinning. “What’s that they say? If your friendship can survive one party signing the other up for a magivised dating programme, it can survive anything.”

“No one’s ever said that before you,” said Harry.

Ron shrugged. “They will after this. Off you go, tiger. Make me proud.”

He shoved Harry unceremoniously onto the Portkey platform. Harry stumbled, but didn’t fall. _Fuck that man,_ he thought as he blinked at the bright lights. Fuck him and fuck Harry for thinking he was having a laugh when he said last month that he’d sent an owl in with Harry’s name for the inaugural series of the very unfortunately named Stag Shag Show. He was a twenty-six-year-old man; he shouldn’t have to suffer indignities like this anymore.

Harry considered not touching the Portkey, letting it activate without him there. He’d miss his connection to Sydney and then maybe he could go home and just…Nope. Magical binding contract. _Fuck magic,_ Harry thought. This was the Goblet of Fire all over and he should have _known_ better when Ron asked for his signature on an extra copy of some Auror paperwork. Ron _never_ did paperwork.

“Oh, hey, Harry?”

Harry glared at him.

Ron smiled. “I do hope you find someone you like.”

In the end, Harry always did what was expected of him, and so therefore wrapped his hand around the string of anal beads, and let himself be whisked away to Australia.

-x-

“Harry!”

He whirled around and found himself facing Luna Lovegood, looking rather like a photonegative with her white-blonde hair set against unusually tanned skin. “Harry!” she called again. “You’re right on time!”

“For my humiliation and misery?” he clarified.

“No, for dating twenty-four men at a time. Well, twenty-three, really.”

Harry was not sure if he wanted to know what that meant, so he didn’t ask. Luna put an arm around his shoulder and led him into the waiting car. He slid inside and found himself face to face with three cameras and stage lightning. He blinked. Luna shoved in beside him, beaming.

“This is your camera crew, Harry,” she said. “Javier Dorado, and of course you know Dennis Creevey and Miles Bletchley.”

Harry tried not to make a face. For a moment, he’d worried about a Slytherin being around to get all his humiliation on camera, and then he remembered that it didn’t matter who was filming it, everyone was going to watch it on one of those damned magicboxes anyway. “Hullo,” he said.

“So pleased to be working with you, Harry!” Dennis said. “Luna’s a great producer. We’re going to have so much fun!”

“I’m sure.”

“Potter, what’s your good side?” asked Miles.

“Not sure I have one,” Harry said.

Miles nodded. “I didn’t think so either, but I didn’t want to be rude.” He turned back to his camera to fiddle with the zoom, leaving Harry staring at him. 

“So this is how it’s going to work,” Luna said. “We’ll get you settled into your hotel room, have lunch, and work out some sights you’d like to see. That’s where we’ll have your dates take place. Your contenders will arrive before dinner and you’ll be introduced to them one at a time. Afterwards, there’ll be a cocktail party to open things up and let you get to know them all. Then, you’ll send nine of them home and continue on with the remaining fifteen. And then there’s the prize money, of course, for you and your winner. One million each at the end.”

Harry nodded glumly. “Sounds great.”

“Doesn’t it?” said Luna, excitedly. “If your series goes well, I think we can get renewed for at least three more, so be sure to be exciting.”

They arrived at the hotel and Luna directed the staff to take care of Harry’s bags. Javier, Miles, and Dennis followed, filming, while Luna chattered on about the beauty of Australia and how much fun they were going to have during the next three weeks.

Harry nodded along, but in his head, he was planning a very extreme, very painful, very humiliating revenge.

-x-

Harry stood in front of the Sydney Opera House, scowling. How Luna had got permission from the Australian Ministry of Magic to erect muggle-repelling wards around the bloody Opera House, he had no idea. His ‘dates’ (contenders, Luna called them, like it was a bloody gladiator fight) were somewhere above him on the Harbour Bridge, Disillusioned. They would be removing their charms and flying down to meet him by broom. Ridiculous.

Harry sighed, shifted on his feet. Javier was looking at him very peculiarly as if he didn’t like the way Harry’s face was showing up on camera. Indeed, Miles sighed heavily and stalked over to him, pressing his hair down to his head with unnecessary force. 

“It ain’t goin’!” he called to Javier. Javier scowled and waved Miles back into place. Dennis was hopping around getting hipster angles. He was currently on his back on the ground by Harry’s feet, filming up at him. 

“Action!”

Harry felt the whoosh of displaced air before he saw the approaching figure. It was twilight and the wizard was in dark clothing. He dismounted deftly, shot Harry a caddish smile, and flipped his broom up on his shoulder.

“Zeph Harris,” he said, holding out his hand. 

Harry swallowed. His throat was suddenly dry. Good Merlin, this bloke was actually here to date _him_? Harry took his hand and shook. He unconsciously sucked in his stomach, wondering if two hours a day of training for his Auror work was enough for this unnaturally fit bloke. 

“Harry Potter,” said Harry. Zeph smiled again, all pearly white teeth, russet hair, and sharp black eyes. Harry was immediately in love. Zeph followed Luna’s direction into the Opera House and Harry turned in time for the next wizard flying down.

“Dune Fraiser,” said the new wizard, and Harry was in love again. Freckles. Freckles everywhere. Harry had a fondness for freckles. They were like comfort food.

The next wizard flew in. Harry gaped as he dismounted. “Michael Corner,” he said, as if Harry could forget. “Ginny’s other gay ex-boyfriend.”

“Are you taking the piss?” Harry asked. He looked around for someone to jump out with a camera and tell him he’d been had, and while Dennis did jump out with a camera, no one yelled ‘You’ve been blatched!’ He shook Michael’s hand on autopilot and Michael gave him a lopsided smile in return.

“Nope. Just wanted a shag and a date. Plus there’s the prize money if I win. Luna convinced me to give it a go.”

Harry wanted to die. Not only was his humiliation going to be public in the abstract sense that while he was globetrotting and being filmed people back in Britain would be watching him flounder around, but now it was going to be public in the very immediate sense that he was going to have to date someone he knew. Someone he knew who’d also probably got off with Ginny eight or ten years ago.

This went on entirely too long. Harry was also in love with the tenth arrival, a big, sturdy man who flew a broom like it was an afterthought and made Harry feel absolutely scrawny when they shook hands. “Reuben Smythe,” he said in a baritone that had Harry half-hard already. “Call me Ruby.”

Any man man enough to go by Ruby was man enough for Harry, he thought as he watched Ruby walk to join the others by Luna. Well, not walk, exactly—prowl, really. God, if the man’s cock was anything like his arms—

And then came number eleven. Number eleven was not a great flyer, Harry could see, even as the wizard approached. Probably not a up for a Quidditch match date, he thought with some disappointment. And then the wizard lowered his hood and Harry saw that he was not a wizard after all. Twenty-three suddenly had meaning.

“Hermione?!” He huffed in exasperation. Of course. His humiliation just wouldn’t be complete without one of his besties here to chaperone. No doubt Ron set this all up, the fucking wanker.

Hermione pursed her lips, looking extremely unrepentant. “Yes, well. I was so angry with Ron when I found out he signed you up for this that I decided he ought to get a little surprise, too. And I wanted to give you a safe option in case everyone here turns out to be a fame-seeking creep. And also I wanted to show all of you—” and here she turned and faced each of the cameramen in turn, “—that it’s shameful that all of you would profit off Harry’s discomfort and sit in your living rooms watching your magicboxes and laughing at Harry’s love life as if you’d ever get out here and let yourselves be filmed—and you, Harry!” she said, turning back to him. “Gender and sexuality aren’t black and white and everyone should be more open to the possibility of fluid, natural love.”

Harry’s eyes flicked to the side in desperation. Ron was going to _kill_ him. Miles had set his camera aside and was now performing a gentle Summoning charm on Hermione. She resisted for a moment, but then leaned up to give Harry a peck on the cheek before walking off to join the other wizards, head high.

Harry was in turn introduced to Atlas, Nero, Claudius, Finian, Quill, Martin, Harry Henry (Harry’s life: more mortifying by the moment), Phoenix, Socorro, Felix, Byron, Gregorious, Jesse, Titus, Raul, Gardner, Jake, and Heathcliff. By the grace of Merlin, there was only one contender left to arrive. Harry stared up at the bridge, waiting for the wizard to remove his Disillusionment charm and fly his arse down so they could all get inside, Harry could throw back several beers, and they would be that much closer to the end.

The wizard was taking his bloody time, wasn’t he? Finally, Harry saw a figure appear as the charm was dropped. And then he saw the wizard jumping off the bridge and— _Dear god,_ Harry thought in some desperation, _the prospect of dating me has driven this man to suicide_ —

But then his descent stopped and he looped back up and Harry fell in love for the final time that night because this wizard had just dived off a fucking bridge and mounted his broom a metre from the water. He corkscrewed up, robes trailing behind him like a banner of masculinity. His long pale hair streamed out and Harry had to shift his legs to try to get his dick to lay properly again. 

The wizard approached, and Harry fell out of love. It was the most heartbreaking moment of his life.

“Malfoy?” said Harry. He was disappointed, he realized. He’d thought—Merlin, he’d seen this wizard flying and thought of all the races they could have, all the Quidditch matches they could catch, all the lazy Sunday broom rides over to Bristol they could take together, all the times he could lay Harry back on his Firebolt and fuck him thirty metres in the air—

Malfoy smirked. Harry hated him because eight years had done nothing but make him more attractive than ever. His hair was longer than Harry’d ever seen him let it get—down to his shoulders and wispy. His chin was still pointy enough to cause questions at the airport, and his eyes still looked permanently narrowed, but Merlin, those shoulders—that scrawny waist, those slim hips. Harry was not a man with a type, but he hated that Malfoy was fit and attractive anyway.

“What are you doing here?” Harry hissed.

“I thought the point was to win your heart, or did Lovegood misinform me?”

“She did if she said you had a chance at it.” 

To Harry’s consternation, this only seemed to please Malfoy, who stepped closer, right into Harry’s personal space. He flipped his broom over his shoulder and reached out with his free hand, trailing his fingers down Harry’s chest. 

“Oh, I think we’ll get on _just fine_ , Potter. Just fine.”

Malfoy stepped around him, walking to join Luna and the others.

“Malfoy!” Harry called after him. Malfoy paused, glancing back over his shoulder.

“Why do you think so?”

Malfoy grinned. “Because no one knows how to rile you up like I do.”

-x-

Malfoy handed him a drink. It wasn’t a beer.

Harry took it anyway, glaring. “What the fuck are you doing here, Malfoy? Seriously?”

“Can’t a fellow just want a chance at love?”

Harry narrowed his eyes. “A fellow could, if he weren’t married with an infant.”

Malfoy smirked. “Heard about that, did you? Wasn’t even in the papers. You do keep up with me, don’t you?”

“Malfoy,” Harry growled. 

“You don’t keep up with me enough, though,” Malfoy continued. “My father paid Astoria Greengrass to have my heir. She divorced me as soon as she was recovered from labour.”

Harry gave him an incredulous look. “Why are you pure-bloods all so strange?” he wondered. Then, “Wait, why bother even getting married if you were just going to get divorced right after?”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Scorpius wouldn’t be able to inherit if he were illegitimate, you fuckwit.”

This time, Harry rolled his eyes. “You’re not making a strong case for yourself here.” 

Fortunately, Hermione brought over adorably shy and comfortably-freckled Dune then, and Harry didn’t have to talk to Malfoy again. Dune was a good conversationalist, if rather blushy. Harry was charmed by his smile and then by his flexibility when he demonstrated what happened after being forced into ballet during developmental years.

He wasn’t much of a social butterfly, so it was a good thing that all the contestants were desperate for his attention and that Hermione was willing to bring over pre-screened ones as well. By the end of the night, Harry found that he’d almost enjoyed himself. He was a bit fuzzy around the edges when Luna told him it was time to choose the fifteen who would be staying on. 

“Tell us how you feel, Harry,” said Luna, leading him off to a side room where he would be allowed to ‘ponder’ his choices. “You’re about to give out your first Snitches to the Seekers of Your Heart. Love is like a Quidditch match, don’t you find?”

“In what way?” he asked.

“Well, many people score points for the team, but only one person decides when the game is over.”

“Um—right,” he said. 

“So. You’ve fifteen Snitches here in this bag. Everyone who gets one will get a chance to win your heart. The nine who don’t are going home at the first Portkey tomorrow morning, never to have the chance to know your tender soul. How do you _feel_?”

“Vaguely nauseated,” he said, which was true. He’d drank way too much. “I should’ve never confessed to Ron that I was—um. Lonely.”

It was then that he noticed the red blinking light on the magicamcorder Javier held up. His face drained of blood. He knew, in an abstract sense, that they were filming him, would always be filming him, but seeing it was like a fresh punch to the stomach. He _hated_ being on camera, hated having attention in general.

“Why do you think you’ve been thus far unable to find a meaningful relationship?” Luna asked.

Harry stared at the camcorder again, swallowing heavily. A thousand things came to mind. He said none of them, thank god. “I don’t know.”

Luna frowned, checking her watch. She sighed and stood. “Well, it’s nine o’clock. We’d better get these Snitches handed out. Early day tomorrow!”

She passed him the bag, fluttering and twitching like it was full of cats instead of Snitches. Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath, attempting to steady his breathing. Outside those doors, there were twenty-three men—and Hermione—waiting to see if he’d keep them around. He had all of five minutes to decide who would stay, and the only person he was certain of was Hermione.

And how pathetic was that? He was on a gay dating show and he’d rather keep on his married, female, best friend instead of leaving the spot open for another man he might, potentially, be interested in sex with. But real sex had always been such a disappointment that Harry didn’t really see a difference, really. 

Hermione or some random wizard—either way, Harry didn’t get off.

In the end, he gave a Snitch to Dune, Hermione, that big stud Ruby, Titus, Atlas, Felix, Byron, Socorro, Gardner, a bloke Harry thought had the same name as himself and which he thought was funny but which, upon waking up the next morning, he would find to be humiliating, Michael Corner, Zeph, Quill, and Finian. 

Then he had one Snitch left and as he stared at the men still waiting empty-handed, he realized he didn’t know any of their names. He couldn’t give the Snitch to one of them even if he wanted to. Harry began to panic. And that’s when he saw Malfoy’s scowling face in the back row. Relieved to have even one person he could call up, Harry said, “Draco Malfoy.”

Malfoy’s surprise was caught on camera, as was everything else embarrassing that night, but Harry felt rather pleased (and drunk) as he passed the final Snitch to Malfoy, and Malfoy’s cool fingers brushed over his to take it. Harry shivered, probably drunk, and Dennis got it on film.

-x-

The Floo call came later than Harry expected, all things considered, and he was mostly sober by that point. Still, he approached the grate warily when he heard Ron’s voice calling out to him.

“Is my fucking wife there with you, Harry?” Ron demanded as soon as Harry came into view.

Harry’s eyes shifted to the side. It was a bad habit that Kingsley railed him for at least twice a month. “Erm. Yes.”

Ron’s eyes narrowed. “You send her home right now, Harry. I swear to Merlin, if you give her a Snitch—!”

“You signed me up for this, Ron! And anyway, I’ve already given her one. You’ll tune in next week when the episode airs, yeah?”

“Harry! She left me here with Rosie and a freezer full of pumped milk. What am I supposed to do when it runs out?”

Harry smirked. “Dunno. Floo your mum? You could try the Tesco for formula. Anyway, love you man—it’s been real, but I gotta go. I’ve a date with Hermione in the morning.”

“Goddamnit, Harry.” 

In the background, Rosie started crying. Harry smirked and cut the connection. Maybe he could go a little easy on Ron when he planned his retribution since Hermione’d already made a good start on it.

-x-

Luna was in his hotel room when Harry woke up. She was, in fact, hovering over his face and staring at him with her weirdly huge eyes. “Oh, you’re up,” she said.

Harry was not sure how anyone could sleep through those eyes staring at them. He pushed himself up on his elbows. “Yeah, I’m up.”

“You can bring eight contenders with you for the first date. Who do you want?”

Harry flopped back on the bed and dearly wished this was all a bad dream caused by an injury during an Auror raid. “Um. Hermione,” he said. 

Luna noted this down. “I think it’s lovely that Ron is so comfortable with you dating his wife. Do you think you’ve always been in love with both of them or were you in love with Ron first and you fell in love with Hermione later because you realized that love transcends gender?”

Harry did not have an answer for that. “Um. Ruby,” he said instead. Luna noted this down. “And Dune, Felix, Quill, Zeph, Atlas.” He paused. Luna looked up at him, blinking slowly. Harry swallowed. “Malfoy,” he said on a sigh. Ugh. He hated himself in that moment.

“Did you decide on what you wanted for your first date or do you want me and Dennis to pick?”

Harry absolutely did not want that. He wanted the exact opposite of anything Luna, Dennis, Miles, or Javier might pick. He said, therefore the first thing that came to his mind. “Can we go snorkeling or scuba diving or whatever? At the Great Barrier Reef.”

“That doesn’t provide a great deal of opportunity for talking,” Luna observed.

Harry considered the fact that Malfoy would be along. “Good.”

She tapped her quill against her notebook. “Yes, I think you’re right. Sometimes one must eschew talking and get straight to sexual attraction. Coral reefs are very sensual, so I understand wanting to see a school of men swimming around it in swim trunks, like very sexy fish without shirts on.”

_I hate you, Ron,_ Harry thought, not, most likely, for the last time. He smiled at Luna. “Yeah, sounds great.”

“I think we’ll have the contenders you’ve chosen make their swimsuits out of found objects, to demonstrate their creativity.”

Thinking of Hermione, and Ron’s fist in Harry’s face if any of her ended up on national magivison, Harry said, “No!” He jumped up from the bed. “No—that’s not necessary. Maybe they could transfigure them instead? From, um, winter cloaks? And extra points if they, um, make them my favourite colour.”

“Everyone knows your favourite colour,” Luna said. “It was in the September 2002 _Witch Weekly_.”

“Well, how about points for style then?”

Luna sighed. “I suppose Miles and I will have to be the judges there. Alright, Harry. I need to run so I can deliver the assignment letter to the contenders you’ve selected.” She opened the hotel room door and leaned out to yell, “Dennis, you can come in now!”

“No, he can’t!” Harry said. “I’m not dressed!” 

She gave him a confused look. “Boxers cover the same as swim trunks.” And then she was gone, replaced by a bouncing Dennis who had a Polaroid hanging from the strap around his neck and a magicamcorder in one hand. 

“Morning, Harry!” he said. He panned the camcorder down and back up again, and Harry, belatedly, covered his groin with his hands. Fuck, he hoped he didn’t have morning wood. “How are you feeling?”

“Distinctly uncomfortable,” Harry said. 

“So you’ve eliminated nine contenders for your heart. Nine heartbroken wizards are on a Portkey home this morning. How do you feel? Do you worry that one of them might actually be your soul mate, but you eliminated him based on a first impression and you’ll never find true love or ever be fulfilled, thus spending your entire life alone and yearning? Tell me about it.”

Harry tried to react, he really did, but he’d lost the ability. He sat staring at Dennis, at his magicamcorder and the blinking red light flashing in time with Harry’s pulse. What. How was he supposed to even respond to that? Dennis peered around the camcorder, motioning for him to start talking. 

‘Green room,’ he mouthed. ‘Talk.’

“I,” Harry said, trailing off. His mouth gaped. He cleared his throat. He thought of Ron. His eyes narrowed. He smirked. “I’m really grateful my best friend Ron Weasley signed me up for this programme. Most blokes have a best friend, probably, but no one’s got a best friend like Ron. He’s the most caring, most compassionate man I’ve ever met. He’s so strong and masculine, but inside, he’s like a gentle puffskein. He’s home with the baby right now while his beautiful wife, my other best friend, Hermione, is here with me. I don’t think I sent home any potential soul mates last night, but I’m comforted by the knowledge that even if I don’t find my perfect sexual match here on the Stag Shag, I’ll at least have my perfect best friend match waiting for me back home.”

The red light stopped flashing and Dennis put the camera down, beaming. “Perfect, Harry! I know the wizarding public is going to be so excited to get this deep and meaningful view into your psyche.”

“Do you think you could put some pictures of Ron up to show while you’re playing my quote? So everyone can see what a great man he is?”

“Yeah, have you got any?”

Harry thought of the ones from the Yule Ball; maybe the one showing Ron dropping to the floor when Mrs Granger came out to the St Mungo’s waiting room to let them know Rosie had been born; those of Ron drooling as he slept on the Weasleys’ new recliner with his mouth open. “I’m sure I can find something.”

-x-

What Harry first noticed upon Portkeying to the boat they’d be diving off of, was that Quill was not made for exposure to direct sunlight. They couldn’t have been out here more than twenty minutes, and it was only nine in the morning besides, but Quill was already turning an alarming shade of red. Malfoy, the fairest of all Harry’s contenders out here today, looked perfectly composed and undaunted by sunlight as he lounged against the railing in sleek, all black swim trunks. He had really lovely feet, Harry thought.

“Morning, Harry,” said Ruby, his voice deep and rumbling. Harry glanced at him and his stomach flipped. Merlin, what a man, what a man. His eyes travelled over Ruby, taking in the thick hair covering his muscular chest and stomach. He was stocky, strong-looking, not too tall, but everything about him screamed _testosterone_. His red beard could’ve used a trim but Harry had thoughts of that beard tickling his inner thighs as Ruby licked his bollocks. 

“Morning,” Harry said, his voice catching. He flushed, looked down to hide his eyes, and made the mistake of taking in Ruby’s swim trunks. Red tartan. _Why is red tartan attractive?_ he wondered desperately. 

Luna Apparated in with the scuba instructor, and they had to sit through an entire hour of Bubble-head safety instructions. Any erection Harry might’ve had from Ruby’s hairy legs was long gone by the time they actually got to fall back into the water. They all swam around, taking in the corals. Harry was enthralled, and found himself tracking a school of little red fish, then a huge turtle, and nearly pissing himself when he saw a shark swimming towards them. 

_Please eat Malfoy first,_ he prayed. It would give the rest of them time to get back to the boat. 

With some degree of disappointment, Harry reconsidered. _I’d probably try to save the stupid fuck,_ he then thought, dejected. And of course he would. He wouldn’t let even Malfoy get eaten by a shark.

Hermione, who was in a scandalously low-cut red one-piece that Harry was sure was meant to annoy Ron when he saw it on the magicbox, appeared to be more interested in collecting samples from the sea anemones and trying to coax a blue starfish into her collection jar. She gave the shark a cursory look and returned to her inspections, though Harry noticed she did retrieve her wand from her thigh holster. 

Quill was not impressed by the shark, though that was perhaps putting it quite nicely. In actuality, Harry was concerned that Quill did, in fact, piss himself when he saw it approaching. He hid himself behind Harry. The water got warmer, and Harry would’ve gagged if he wasn’t underwater with a Bubble-head charm on. He glanced over his shoulder to give the man a disgusted look and swam, slowly, away from the shark, trying not to provoke it with any sudden movements. Ruby and Malfoy were treading water near to one another, keeping a steady eye on the shark and well alert of their surroundings, but, like Hermione, remaining otherwise unphased. 

Dune, Zeph, Felix, and Atlas were currently heading upwards, towards the boat and the ladder hanging from it. Dennis was below them, filming their escape from a sassy angle.

Swimming away was a perfectly reasonable course of action when confronted by a shark, Harry was forced to admit. If one weren’t on a date with him, that is. Harry was not impressed with their lack of...sense of adventure, but at least they weren’t pissing on him. Something bumped into him and he whirled around, coming face to face with a huge humpbacked fish. It was blue, with a funny-looking face and it stared at Harry as if to convey that he was in the way and would he please move. Harry reached out, tentatively, to touch it.

It was—sort of soft. He stroked it again. Hermione came up to him, eyes bright behind her Bubble-head. She mouthed something to him, a name probably, but all he could make out was ‘humpback’. The fish swam through their outstretched arms, like a cat twining around legs. Harry grinned at her. He noticed Miles swimming in to get a better shot of them with the fish, but he didn’t even mind. 

Malfoy swam up to them, his eyes cutting briefly to Harry’s before he reached out and touched the fish, too. He jerked his hand back, as if he’d not expected it to feel that way, before hesitantly returning to it again. He looked like he wanted to smile, but he was being filmed, and Harry could understand not wanting one’s innermost thoughts recorded forever and broadcast to everyone.

He sort of hated Malfoy, but right then, he felt like maybe they were thinking the same thing. If they could both appreciate this weird-arse fish, then maybe they weren’t so different after all. 

_Wow, Harry,_ he thought then. _This is what your life’s come to._

-x-

Hermione got the safe-zone Snitch. Harry shoved it into her hand at his first opportunity the next day because he was feeling unsettled and thought that if he didn’t get rid of it right away, he’d give it to Malfoy.

She gave him a look as her fingers closed around it. “I know that I came here specifically to take one of the twenty-four slots, but I didn’t intend for you to actually keep giving me Snitches,” she said. “I know that I’ve said—things—about this programme, but you really should consider dating again.” She grimaced. “Even if you’re being filmed doing it.”

Harry glanced around for the cameramen, but unless Dennis was hiding behind a potted plant, they had some modicum of privacy. “It’s—terrifying,” he said. “It never goes well when I date. I don’t want a bad date caught on film forever.”

She bit her lip. “You’re only the first series,” she said. “Others much less suave will come after, and people will forget the particulars of the episodes.”

“Maybe,” he said. “I just don’t want to fuck up. I want you here, for advice.”

“I’ll do what I can,” she said. “But in the end, you need to choose someone. Someone real. Not me. It doesn’t have to be on this admittedly ridiculous show, but it needs to be somewhere. You have to try again, Harry. You’re not doomed to be in bad relationships your whole life; you just need to find the right person.”

Harry thought of the few, straggled dates he’d had over the years and how absolutely horridly they’d all gone. He thought maybe he was...dysfunctional. Other wizards—and witches, when he’d still be trying for that and a family—seemed to agree. He thought maybe if he just found a good witch who would be open to his sexual inadequacy, they could have a family together and be pretty happy. He just wanted to be a dad so desperately, but there wasn’t anything to be done there since he couldn’t, in fact, get off while penetrating anyone without…outside help.

“I’ll try,” he said. Merlin, he wished Ron was here, too. The stupid wanker. He’d never told either of them why he had so much trouble dating, but he had a feeling they knew. Ginny was very close to her brother, after all.

“Harry, there you are,” said Luna, peering into the alcove they shared. “Hello, Hermione. Harry, I didn’t think I needed to remind you that you’re not allowed to have sex with any of the contenders before the end of the season. It gives an unfair advantage.”

“We weren’t having sex,” Hermione said.

“Yet,” said Luna. She gave them a pointed look, which they responded to with mute confusion. Harry was gay. Hermione was married. To Harry’s best friend. “Your last date in Australia, Harry—it’s now. Are you ready? Everyone will be coming.”

“Where?” he asked.

“We’re going to see a mysterious rock. Have you heard of Uluru?”

“Oh for god’s sake,” Hermione muttered, pushing around Harry to exit the alcove. “It’s not mysterious.”

“It is,” Luna insisted. “Why is a limestone rock just sitting there in the middle of an otherwise flat landscape?”

“Because alluvial fans,” Hermione called over her shoulder. She was already disappearing up the hotel stairs to her room, no doubt to change into clothes more suited to rocks.

Luna frowned. She turned back to Harry. “There’s a late lunch waiting for you in your room. You have time for a nap if you want. We’ll be Portkeying to Uluru at three.”

Great.

“There are wallabies,” Luna said, as if to tempt him.

It worked. “Wallabies, really?” he said. He’d never seen a wallaby. 

“Yes, and lots of men.”

Harry sighed. “Alright. I’ll be down in a while.”

-x-

The sun was still high when their Portkey arrived. Harry, who’d chosen to wear a t-shirt and cargo shorts, was unsettled to see that Felix was in a three-piece suit. He was not the only one overdressed for the excursion, as Byron and Gardner were in wool trousers and wingtips. Weird.

Hermione, sensibly dressed in a sleeveless shirt, khaki shorts, and a wide-brimmed hat, had a knapsack on her back that clinked with the telltale sound of collection jars when she walked. 

“It’s so _hot_ ,” said Felix, tugging uncomfortably at his cravat.

“It’s Australia,” said Harry. “And February. And we’re in a desert, basically.” It was easily 28C. Why anyone would wear a suit to a rock was beyond Harry.

Felix scrunched his nose. “One can never be overdressed.”

Behind them, someone snorted, and they both turned. Malfoy was dressed similarly to Harry, right down to the khaki shorts. His legs, however, were blindingly pale. “One can, I assure you, Mr Faungrazer.”

_Faungrazer?_ Harry thought. Had he really missed that when Felix introduced himself?

They spent some time exploring the rock and, for a rock, it was pretty fun. Luna educated them on the structure of Uluru and its connection (mysterious) to Kata Tjuta. Hermione supplemented this with a steady, cited, monologue of refutations, which she said under her breath and to Harry only. That Malfoy seemed to hover nearby and snort with laughter every now and again was something he tried to ignore. 

The men did their damnedest to get to know Harry, or extoll their own virtues to him. They showed him plants, they pointed out wild turkeys and emus, they made jokes at the expense of Australians. One even brought him wild flowers. It was—unexpected, but Harry blushed just the same, especially when Socorro gave him the most brilliant smile as he did it. 

Michael Corner was nice and friendly to Harry, but not overly so. They had a bit of history, so talking to him wasn’t quite as hard as it was with Finian and Zeph, who were both just as attractive as Michael, but unknown quantities. Most of the men just liked to yammer on about themselves. It was due to this exuberant self-promotion that Harry was able to quickly strike Gardner and Quill off his list of candidates. 

“Have dreamt of feeling your big, thick cock in my arse for fifteen years,” Gardner murmured, coming up to Harry as he was standing on the edge of the rock and looking out at the landscape before him. Despite the fact that, fifteen years ago Harry was only eleven and that was creepy as fuck, he didn’t want to have to deal with the constant pressure of a lover who always wanted Harry to fuck him. He had enough stress in his life without that, too. He also really hoped that the fifteen years part had been hyperbolic.

And Quill was nice, but when he said, “Oh, yes, _Merlin_ , do I love a good hard shag,” Harry knew he was not the one, either. They could be friends. They could talk about their boyfriends to each other. But they could not be boyfriends themselves. Also, he’d peed on Harry, so maybe not even friends.

And Harry just thought Felix was a prick. So that helped things a bit. 

The sun started to set and the air cooled some. Hermione’s arms were covered in goose pimples but she looked delighted crouching down to scoop up dirt samples with her little trowel. Luna’s production company had provided a picnic dinner for them to be held atop the rock. She erected an open-faced tent with pillows for chairs and candles hovering all inside. It was...pretty. Harry couldn’t help thinking that this was the sort of thing he’d like to do with a lover, but he didn’t have one of those. 

Ruby brought him a plate, shouldering freckly Dune out of the way with the sort of friendly disregard that only those who don’t understand their true size can have. And Ruby was definitely a man of size. Harry watched his shoulders flexing under his red plaid shirt, rolled up at the sleeves, and thought, _Now that is a man who could fuck me right._

“Thanks,” Harry said, grinning.

Ruby smiled back, though it was a bit hard to see under his bright red beard. Harry imagined that beard against his bollocks as Ruby sucked him off, three fingers in his arse, and shuddered at the sensations it brought.

“Yep,” said Ruby. He handed Harry a beer and settled in beside him, saying nothing more.

They had a lovely view. No wallabies yet, but Harry was hopeful. The sun began to set and the light from the candles made Ruby’s beard sparkle and shine. Still he said nothing. It wasn’t bad, really. Harry could get used to someone who didn’t want anything from him but a shag and love. He was quiet himself. And it was—it was a comfortable sort of quiet.

“I found the most amazing caterpillar,” Hermione said, plopping down across from them with her own plate. Her hair was plastered to her forehead and her cheeks were blotchy and pink but when Dennis came up behind Harry to film her, Harry knew Ron would think she was gorgeous on the magicbox. “Do you want to see it?”

“Yeah,” Harry said. 

She pulled out a jar with holes spelled into the top. There was a terrifying, hairy motherfucker in the jar, little legs trying to reach through the air holes. 

“Oh, god!” Harry said, leaning back. “It’s hideous.”

Hermione frowned and brought the jar up to her eyes to look closer. “It’s beautiful,” she said, still frowning. “It’s just a caterpillar.”

There was a smattering of laughter from the far side of the tent. Harry and Hermione glanced that way to find Byron, Felix, and Atlas huddled up together watching Hermione with her bug. Harry frowned. 

“Not a very good strategy,” came Malfoy’s voice. He sat down between Harry and Hermione, balancing a plate of bread and cheese and a glass of red wine. They turned to him. “Laughing at Granger, I mean. Anyone who knows you at all would know you’d never pick someone who couldn’t accept your friends.”

“Which writes you out,” Hermione said. “What are you even doing here?”

“Wanted to see the world,” he said. But then he smiled at Harry and Harry knew there was something else to it. He blinked, watching Malfoy closely. He didn’t laugh at Hermione’s bug even once.

-x-

That night, Harry had to do eliminations again. Five wizards would be going home and only ten would continue on to Mykonos with the show. Javier handed him a sack of Snitches and left him standing there in the hotel lobby with fifteen expectant faces staring back at him. There were bright lights from the cameras glaring down on his face. He’d been able to ignore them for most of the day since they were filming outside, but here in the hotel, with all the mirrors and polished marble, he was hyper aware.

And he had to give a little speech first. To soften the blow. He imagined Ron sitting at home in front of the magicbox, wearing only his pants and Rosie’s spit up in his hair, Rosie passed out against his chest, a beer in his free hand. Fuck, Harry would love that. He’d love to have a family of his own. 

Ron would be laughing at him right now. 

“Um,” said Harry. He shifted on his feet. He’d never felt so uncomfortable in his life. At least the first night he’d had Portkey lag and pleasant drunkenness to soften the awkwardness. “It’s been really great getting to know all of you. I had a good time scuba diving and then again at the…” Fuck, what was it called? “The rock. I, um, wish that we could all continue on to Greece together, but Luna says no, so I guess it’s time to hand out Snitches.”

Hermione was already holding hers up by her face per Miles’ instruction, so the cameras could see. As the shortest of all the contenders, she was in front, and Harry could see Dennis filming her from a number of angles, no doubt to use for voiceover material during editing. He pulled the first Snitch from the bag.

“The first Snitch I’m going to give is to Ruby,” he said. Ruby manoeuvered his way down to the front to accept his Snitch. Harry handed it to him, smiling shyly. He said, “I think we had a good time today and yesterday.”

“Yeah, we did,” Ruby said.

“The next Snitch is for Michael,” said Harry. “You’re a good friend,” he added. “I don’t know if there could be more, but I’d like to find out.”

Michael took his Snitch and returned to his place in the lineup.

Thinking of Socorro’s smile, Harry gave one to him. And then he gave one each to Finian and Zeph because Merlin they were good-looking. After that, it was more an operation in avoiding giving Snitches to the men he really didn’t like. Felix, Atlas, and Byron had sniggered at Hermione’s fascination with the caterpillar and Quill and Gardner were...sexually incompatible. So that left Snitches for Malfoy, Titus, Dune with the lovely freckles, and—here, Harry cringed:

“Harry,” he called. Harry Henry grinned, sauntering up to take the final Snitch from Harry. Harry was determined to get rid of Harry in the next city because there was absolutely no fucking way in hell that he would date a man with the same name as him. The papers would have a fucking field day.

The five remaining men stared back at him, some glumly, some angry. All without a Snitch. Harry shrugged apologetically. “Best of luck,” he said, and felt ridiculous. He turned and escaped up to his hotel room as soon as Luna gave him a thumbs up.


	2. Mykonos

# 2\. Mykonos, Greece

“There is absolutely no theme to this thing at all, Hermione,” Harry said desperately. He could _feel_ the wild look of “crazy” settling on his face. “None at all!”

Despite the beautiful blue ocean and the lovely white buildings, Harry could concentrate on nothing except for the fact that he was still stuck on the wizarding world’s inaugural dating programme. 

There was a knock on his hotel room door and Harry looked towards it, wide-eyed. Luna entered before Hermione could hide in the bathroom, and her expression turned serious. “Harry, you can’t sleep with any of the contenders before the end of the programme,” she said. “How many times must I remind you?”

“I really wasn’t,” Harry said.

“Nevertheless, things happen when people who are attracted to one another are left alone in a room with a bed.”

Hermione looked as horrified as he felt in that moment. “I’m not attracted to Harry,” she said. “I’m married. I have a baby. With my husband.”

“I don’t judge,” Luna said. She came around and handed Harry a travel brochure that said _Delos!_ in a very excited script. “Now that we’re down to just ten contenders, we can have dates altogether. Dennis found this great island with a very large statue of a broken penis,” Luna added.

“Oh, god.” Harry shuddered. The very _thought_.

Luna did not appear fazed. “We’re going to have a scavenger hunt there. Contenders will search for clues to your heart.” She turned to Hermione. “You should leave now, so you don’t have an unfair advantage.”

Hermione, with one last pointed look at Harry, exited the room.

“So, what are the clues to your heart?” Luna asked, taking out her quill and notebook.

“I’m not sure I have any,” Harry admitted. 

“What do you want?” Luna asked, rephrasing. “Everyone wants something.”

Oh god, to have that on magicbox, broadcasted for all of Britain to see. He remembered Ron’s parting words to him before he sent him off to Sydney. Ron had thought there was a chance, however small, that Harry might find someone in this group of men. And Harry really did want his someone. He was tired of being alone, tired of having no one to cook for, or cook for him, tired of seeing Quidditch matches alone, tired of the trouble it took to wank off, tired of not getting paternity leave like Ron did.

“I guess I’d like someone who’s mine,” said Harry.

“Good, good. Excellent,” Luna said, noting this down. She wrote dozens more words than Harry’d said. He tried to peer over at her notebook, but she snatched it away. She looked up at him. “And what else?”

“Um, a family, maybe. Like, kids, you know?”

“Yes, I’ve seen kids before,” she said, also noting this down—very verbosely. “What else?”

“I don’t know!” Harry said. “I’m a simple bloke. I want to do my job and have people I love to come home to. I want to take a holiday every now and then. I want someone to f—” he stopped abruptly, but Luna didn’t seem at all moved. He continued, slowly, cautiously, “I want someone to fuck me. Like they mean it.” 

He turned and glared at the camera, as if it were Miles’ fault he’d just admitted that. Miles rolled his eyes. The red light on the camera continued to blink.

“Oh!” Luna said excitedly. 

Her quill was moving Snitch-fast over the notebook now and Harry desperately wished that he could see what she was saying. “I think this is enough. Okay. Miles and I will be hiding the scavenger hunt items around the ruins this morning. You’ll have lunch with the boys here on the hotel veranda at noon, with Dennis and Javier here to facilitate. We’ll return at two to Portkey everyone to the island, where you’ll be able to mingle with the contenders as they search for a trail that will lead them to your heart. At the end, they’ll take the clues they’ve found and write—secretly—what about them suits your needs most. The one who comes the closest is the one you’ll give your free Snitch to. Tomorrow, we’ll have a day at the beach and then eliminations.”

“I hate eliminations,” Harry said.

“That’s probably why you haven’t found the right person to fuck you yet,” Luna said absently, reading over her notes. “You have to know when something’s not working. Okay! Well, I’m off. Don’t be late to lunch!”

“Wow,” he said when she left, unable to think of anything else.

-x-

Harry sat next to Finian at lunch and Titus took the empty spot on his other side. They had gyros—probably not the most enchanting of Greek dishes, but Harry was a simple man and was thankful that he wasn’t served any of those octopuses he could see sun-drying on a clothesline outside of the hotel’s restaurant.

“Better than the kabobs in London, right?” said Titus, a beautiful brown-skinned man with a devilish smile.

Harry grinned at him. “Those are still pretty good. ‘Specially after a long night.”

Titus’ eyebrows waggled. “Oh, I know all about those sorts of nights. He leaned in, grinning roguishly, and took a bite of his gyro. Tzatziki remained on his lips, and Harry eye’s flickered to his mouth. Titus’ tongue slid out to lick it clean. Harry’d never seen a gyro made to look so delicious. He bit into his own. So good.

“Do you like London much?” asked Finian. “I hardly go there.”

“Yeah, I do,” Harry said. Then, knowing he would probably regret it, considering Javier was only feet away and his microphone even closer than that, added, “I live there.”

“In London, really?” said Finian. “How can you stand the smog?”

Harry shrugged. “You just get used to it after a while, I guess. Where do you live?”

“Ballycotton. County Cork. It’s beautiful there,” he said. Then, “You could come visit. I’d take you out on my boat. That’s what I do, you know. I fish.”

Harry flushed bright red. “That sounds—nice,” he said, biting his lip. Finian grinned at him again and turned back to his gyro.

Lunch went by entirely too fast. Harry found he liked the company of both Finian and Titus very much, and he wasn’t even all that bothered by the way they seemed to keep the other men at bay, as if daring them to come closer by their machismo alone. Luna arrived with the Portkeys and they all gathered around her. Harry took hold of of a souvenir torch from the 2004 Muggle Olympics and felt the familiar, nauseating tug of the port-key activating.

They landed on another island, amid beautiful, broken ruins. Luna set about explaining the game to everyone, although Hermione seemed more interested in making sketchings of some old engravings on a nearby stone. Harry narrowed his eyes. She could at least make an _attempt_ at his heart, if only to annoy Ron. 

A flash of light caught his eye and he turned, but it was only Malfoy’s hair. Harry scowled. Malfoy was paying very close attention to Luna. Why did he care so much? 

There was a row of vaguely lion-shaped statues. Bored, Harry sat down by one of them and watched as the contenders rushed off looking for clues. They were divided into teams of two and had to follow clues to collect items that—allegedly—gave insight into Harry’s deepest desires. 

Beyond a solid fuck, Harry couldn’t say what those might be. He leant back, closing his eyes against the warmth of the sun, and imagined standing before the Mirror of Erised. What would it show him? He pictured a nice big flat in London, a handsome man, and a kid. Just one. Harry wasn’t greedy; he didn’t need a house full of them (although he wouldn’t say no). He could always play Annoyingly Generous Uncle. But one of his own; one who’d call him “Dad”. That would be perfect. Maybe he could adopt a Muggle orphan…

With regret, he gave that idea up. A child raised around magic without any of his own would probably be incredibly unhappy. But the man and the flat...well, maybe Harry could have that at least. He tried to picture his perfect man, but the face wouldn’t stabilize, nor the body type, nor the hair colour. He kept shifting from Ruby to Michael Corner, and worst of all, a weird mash-up of the two that looked sort of like Ron. Harry thought of Titus instead. Now there was a handsome bloke. Liked kebabs, too...

A shadow fell over him. Harry blinked open his eyes, squinting against the bright sunlight. Michael and Malfoy stood there, both looking highly amused.

“Dating too much for you, Harry?” asked Michael. “Need a little break?”

Harry laughed. “You’d be surprised how exhausting unrelenting humiliation can be. Shouldn’t you be scavenging for clues to my heart?”

“You’re sitting on one, we think,” said Michael. “Move that arse.”

“Seriously?” asked Harry. It was such a nice spot.

Michael grinned, and read from a piece of parchment, _“Betwixt the Gryffindor’s loins a true Seeker may find what Harry will protect above all other things.”_

“She isn’t much for rhyming verse,” Malfoy added. “Or, really, good prose at all. I suppose you’ve read the _Quibbler_ yourself, though. ”

Harry laughed, even though he tried not to. He scrambled up, hoping he hadn’t inadvertently sat on a treacle tart or similar—he did love treacle tart. There didn’t seem to be anything there, until— 

“Ah!” said Malfoy. “There it is.” He bent down to pick something up from between the two lion legs Harry’d been leaning against.

“What the hell is that?” Michael asked. Malfoy held out his hand, in which there was a clay bowl with a containing spell over the top. 

Harry jumped, pressing his back against the lion statue. “Are you kidding me? She brought that thing all the way from Australia? Get it the fuck away from me.”

“It’s a caterpillar,” said Malfoy.

A really ugly, extremely hairy, terrifying looking caterpillar that would probably give Harry nightmares like back in fifth year. It was, in fact, the same sort of caterpillar Hermione’d collected in her jar at the rock.

Michael prodded it with his finger, and Malfoy snorted. “Did you fucking really, Corner? Were you a Ravenclaw or a Ravingmad? Do you even know what the fuck these things are?”

“You said it was a caterpillar, Malfoy,” he said irritably.

“Yeah, it is. A processionary caterpillar. Whose fur causes asthma, miscarriages in horses, and urticaria. You can figure that word out can’t you?”

Michael paled. “Oh fuck.” He held his hand out as far as he could from his body, eyes wide in panic. 

“I can’t figure it out,” Harry piped up. “What’s it mean?”

Malfoy smirked. “Severe skin rash. Can last for months...sometimes they get so infected that whole limbs have to be amputated.”

“Oh my god,” Michael said, rushing off to Luna. Harry was glad he was so grossed out by the caterpillar that he hadn’t tried to do the same thing.

Malfoy turned back to Harry, smirking.

Harry frowned. “No one’s ever really had to get amputated, have they?”

Malfoy shrugged. “How should I know? I’m not a fucking caterpillar healer.”

Harry laughed. “How did you become such a twat, Malfoy? Was it natural or?”

“You can thank my mother, Potter. She taught me everything I know. Now if you’ll excuse me. I have a scavenger hunt to finish so that I can continue translating the boring and obvious clues to your sodding heart.” He retrieved a piece of parchment spellotaped to the bottom of the caterpillar’s bowl and waggled it at Harry before stalking off. 

Harry, too creeped out by potential caterpillars, did not sit down again. Instead, he wandered through the ruins, brushing his hands along the old stones and feeling very small indeed. Hermione found him not long later as he was standing before the bigger of the two giant penises, imagining the horror of having his cock snapped off. He couldn’t look away from the carnage; it was like a broom wreck.

“Feeling emasculated?” Hermione asked, also staring up at the penis. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see Miles creeping up with his sodding camera.

“It _is_ rather a big dick,” Harry observed.

“I’ve seen bigger,” said Hermione. She squeaked and covered her mouth. Miles scampered in closer and Hermione’s eyes widened as she saw the camera on her. “In Dorset! The chalk painting, I mean. Not _real_ bigger penises! Of course I’ve only seen one large pe—”

“Hermione,” Harry said, clearing his throat.

“Please shut me up, Harry.”

“Time!” called Luna, voice Sonorus’d. 

Harry wandered over to the amphitheatre where Luna and the contenders were gathering, collected clues in hand. Luna waved at Harry when he arrived.

“Just in time!” she said, directing him to the centre of the amphitheatre where he could no doubt be filmed from hundreds of hipster angles. “Now, I want everyone to take the quill and pad of parchment next to their seat and take a few moments to write down what you’ve found and what it means to Harry.”

Harry stood awkwardly while this was done, shifting from foot to foot and getting more self conscious by the minute. He wasn’t doing anything exciting and yet Dennis was still on the ground by his feet, filming, Harry suspecting, his groin. He shifted again, trying to maneuver away, but Luna put a hand on his back and kept him in place.

After fifteen minutes, Luna began calling them up in the same pairs they hunted in. They would show Harry the items they discovered and hand him a note with their guesses. They were, as expected, all rubbish at guessing.

Socorro and Harry Henry found a green jumper, a broken wand, and a piece of Lethifold fur. They must have worked together, as they both interpreted these things to mean that Harry was deathly afraid of cold and the dark, after he broke his wand during the war, and that he needed a lover who would protect him for a change. And keep him warm. Harry appreciated the thought, but…well, actually, no he didn’t.

Next, Dune and Titus found a copy of _The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore_ , a Quik Quotes Quill, and a dragon scale. This, Dune interpreted to mean that Harry was fond of Dumbledore, liked efficiency (the quill) and adventure (the dragon scale). All in all, not bad. Titus was less successful, and Harry was, frankly, disturbed with his guess that the book represented unfulfilled Greek love between Harry and Dumbledore.

Ruby and Zeph also found a caterpillar. Ruby guessed that it had to do with Hermione, but the way his explanation was worded made Harry wonder if it was because he thought Harry would be interested in a threesome with Hermione and, perhaps, him. Baffled, Harry set that letter aside. 

Hermione guessed everything more or less correctly—more correctly than Harry would’ve guessed, actually, which would’ve said something profound if Hermione didn’t _always_ know him better than he knew himself. And her note was so long that he didn’t bother to finish reading it, but he did save it so he could show it to Ron later and smirk.

Finian was with Hermione, but his guesses were so pathetically off the mark that Harry couldn’t even react to them. But then came Malfoy, who was alone since Michael Corner was currently being treated for caterpillar burn at the hospital in Mykonos.

Malfoy’s letter said,

> _I found a fucking lethal caterpillar that represents your extreme, undying, obnoxious love for your Gryffindor friends, whom I will undoubtedly have to accept and be cordial to if I want you to pick me. Even Weasley, god help me. I also found a green jumper with no brand label on it and a faint hint of armpit, which means it was probably hand knitted by your Weasley’s mum, the only decent mother figure you’ve ever had and the person who reminds you to have your house-elf to do your laundry for you. Finally, I found a white feather, which represents your snow owl who died sometime before eighth year, as she wasn’t at Hogwarts with you then. You liked her a lot because you were always in the Owlery visiting and I suspect you’ve not replaced her with a new owl because you still consider her irreplaceable. You probably use those fucking useless Ministry owls; they aren’t even house-broken. This represents your desire for someone to take care of and for a family. You should choose me because my son needs a second parent and I need an adult or I will go Lockhart within the year._

Harry lowered the letter and looked at Malfoy, aghast. Malfoy lifted his eyebrows.

 _Well, fuck,_ Harry thought.

-x-

The next evening, after a long, relaxing day on the beautiful Mykonos beaches, it was again time for eliminations. Harry hated doing them, but Luna’s words kept coming back to him. He needed to let go of those who weren’t right for him. It helped no one in the long run if he didn’t stay true to himself.

Harry looked out at his assembled dates. Malfoy was in the front, Harry’s free Snitch fluttering in his hand. He looked stunned and yet still pleased. It made Harry’s heart do somersaults to know that he put that look on Malfoy’s face just by delivering a little Snitch to him this afternoon. He was safe from elimination this time; his letter had resonated with Harry the most.

“The free Snitch went to Draco Malfoy,” Harry said, for the benefit of the cameras, as instructed. They would cut in with a montage of Malfoy-scenes and the (censored) text of his letter no doubt. Harry tried not to care how much of himself this one moment exposed, on magicvision. “I have seven more to hand out.”

He took a deep breath. There would only be two eliminations tonight, but it still wasn’t easy. “The first one goes to Titus.” Because he’d so enjoyed their flirty conversation over gyros. He handed Snitches out to Socorro, Dune, Zeph, Michael, and Ruby. When there was just three people left—Hermione, Finian, and Harry Henry—Harry knew that everything Luna’d said, all her whacko wisdom was about to go right out of the window.

“Hermione,” Harry said, at last. She blinked, startled. And then hastily walked up to accept the Snitch from him.

“I thought you were going to send me home,” she whispered, though they were both wearing magical microphones and couldn’t escape being recorded.

“I need you with me,” he admitted.

She gave him a look like she was about to burst into tears and he wasn’t sure if he’d upset her or if maybe her hormones were still a little off-centre from having Rosie, or if she was happy crying—the latter, as it turned out, for she jumped up, wrapping her arms around his neck, and hugging him so tightly he gasped. 

“I love you, Harry,” she whispered, and the microphones no doubt caught that, too. “I’ll be here for you however long you need me.”

She let go of him after a narrow-eyed look from Miles and returned to her spot with the others. Harry faced them. “It’s been great getting to know you both,” he said to Harry and Finian. “I wish you the best. And for the rest of you, I’ll see you in Barcelona.”

Harry turned and walked up the stairs to his room, exhausted.


	3. Barcelona

# 3\. Barcelona, Spain

Harry liked the Sagrada Família, which was good since he was staying in it while they were in Barcelona. Harry wasn’t sure how Luna’d convinced the Catholic Church to allow her to house eight gay men, Hermione, and the production crew inside the Basilica but he was terribly afraid it might not have been entirely on the up and up. He refrained from asking.

“How are you feeling?” Dennis asked him, camera only feet from Harry’s face. The glare from the light never really seemed to fade.

“As though I may be breaking the oath I made to the Ministry when I made Auror,” Harry said, peering nervously at his surroundings. He glanced guiltily back at the camera. “Can you edit that out?”

“Sure can!” said Dennis.

Harry paused. “Are you going to?”

“Probably not,” Dennis admitted. Then, “How do you feel about being down to just seven men and one woman vying for your heart, Harry? Do you feel as though your chances for love are dwindling with each elimination, or is it freeing to know that you’re that much closer to true and undying love?”

“Neither of those,” said Harry. “It’s making me miss the eight years I was single, miserable, and desperately lonely.”

“Ahh, yeah that can happen,” Dennis said. Harry could only see the outer edges of his head, as his face was hidden by the magicamcorder. “Who do you like best so far? Who’s really making your heart—and other things—pound?”

“Oh my god,” Harry said faintly, staring into the red, blinking light of the camera. 

“Hermione’s nice-looking,” Dennis observed.

“She’s married,” said Harry.

“Yeah, you’ll have to learn to be less possessive if you choose her. How about the fellas?”

“Um,” said Harry. “I quite like Ruby,” he said. “He’s, um, very manly.”

“Oh yeah, those arms!”

“Yeah, those arms,” Harry agreed, fighting a grin. “ _Merlin_. He could just pick a bloke up and—” He cleared his throat abruptly. “Titus is good-looking, too. And, um, Malfoy.”

“Oh ho!” said Dennis. “You like ‘em feisty, eh Harry? I always thought you might. Tell the wizarding world what you love most about Malfoy. Is it his hair? His eyes? His tight bum?”

“His personality,” Harry said, feeling strangely confused, like he wasn’t sure who said those words because it certainly wasn’t him. He furrowed his brow and stared down at his shoes, thinking. What a stupid thing to say. What had possessed him to think Malfoy’s _personality_ , of all things, was—

“He’s pretty funny,” Dennis said. “He was telling me about when he and his ex-wife were trying to name their baby. Her family has a tradition of naming every baby a female name, whatever the sex, and his family has a tradition of naming them after star stuff, and she wanted to name the baby Harmonia and he wanted to name him Scorpius and so they settled for Hydra but when she signed over custody to him he went straight to the Ministry and had his name changed to Scorpius.”

Harry grinned. “That sounds like Malfoy.” In his head, he thought, _What weird fucking names_.

“I’m here!” Luna sang as she burst into Harry’s room, beaming. “Are you ready for tonight Harry? We’ve got a great date planned for you and your contenders, don’t we Miles?”

Miles smirked at Harry over the top of his camera as he followed Luna into Harry’s room. “Oh, that we do, Boss Lady, that we do.”

Harry recoiled. “Do I need my wand for this?”

Dennis giggled. “Not yet, tiger! No sex until you pick the winner.”

Harry looked to Luna, who was pawing through his luggage, looking at his pants and shaking her head. “None of these are swim trunks, Harry,” she said, disappointed.

“Those are in the bottom, underneath my jumper.” Luna pulled them out and wrinkled her nose. She turned to Miles. “These won’t do. Run down to the shops and get Harry something in a…” she paused to peer into the waistband. “A 32.”

“What’s wrong with those? I wore them at the coral reef.”

“We aren’t going to a coral reef this time.” 

Harry had a feeling he was not going to like this date at all.

-x-

“Ron,” Harry said, staring directly into Javier’s camera. “When I return to England, I will find you, and I will kill you, and even Hermione will never find your body. And I’m sorry that Rosie’s going to grow up without a dad, I really am, but maybe one day Hermione will find love again and—”

He was cut off as Hermione came up and elbowed him. She said into the camera, “You deserve that, Ron, but Harry’s going to have a good time anyway. Please don’t forget that the milk will spoil if you leave it out so be sure to put it back in the icebox—”

“This isn’t Teach Your Moronic Husband How to Keep a Baby Alive, Granger,” said Malfoy, coming up on Harry’s other side and also talking straight into the camera. “It’s, in case you haven’t heard, the Get Potter Fucked Show—”

“We’ll have to bleep that,” Dennis said, sighing. “What have I told you, Malfoy?”

“I don’t fucking know, Creevey,” said Malfoy. “If you remember, tell it to my secretary instead. She’s home watching Scorpius and she better be doing an excellent job or it’ll be _her_ job.” His eyes narrowed at the camera.

“We are in a gay sauna,” Harry said for the benefit of viewers, and also, sort of, himself. He was still trying to believe how horrible his life actually was. “I’ve been informed that I have to get into a hot tub with seven other gay men, my best friend Hermione, and the production crew of the Stag Shag Show.”

“Despicable,” Hermione muttered. 

Harry noted that, despicable or not, she was still wearing her red swimsuit. She’d also brought a book. _The Year of Magical Thinking_. Fuck, this was turning out to be a nice holiday for Hermione. Maybe he should sign someone up for this show and then tag along until they eliminated him out of spite or good sense.

“How do you feel about that?” asked Miles.

“Like it would be a lot more exciting if you weren’t here filming it.”

“It’s actually a bath house,” Luna noted.

“A gay one,” said Harry.

“Yes,” Luna agreed. “A gay one. Obviously. Look at all the penises.” Three cameras dutifully panned around the sauna’s interior, zooming in on the phallic decor and the other men lounging throughout, some with clothes on, some without. Harry hoped, sincerely, that they would be censoring those bits.

“Hey Harry,” said Zeph, sauntering up to them in a very tiny pair of swim...pants. “Want to get in with me? The water looks sooo hot and delicious.”

“Honestly, I’m terrified of removing my robe,” Harry said. 

“You have a nice body, Harry,” Hermione said. “You need to have more self confidence.”

“It’s not that, it’s,” he paused, trying to think of a delicate way to put it. “Miles was just maybe not the best person to send for a pair of swim trunks.”

“Oh, honestly, Harry,” said Luna. She snapped her wand and Harry’s robe disappeared, leaving him only in a similarly tiny pair of Gryffindor red Speedos with a Snitch design over his cock. He yelped and tried covering himself up. He’d never felt his penis get so intimate with his bollocks. They weren’t _meant_ to fit into pants this small!

“Dear god,” said Hermione.

Harry turned to the camera, even as he was easing himself towards the water so he could jump in and be, relatively, more covered. “Mention this even once and you will die, Ron.”

He jumped into the nearest hot tub and Zeph and Hermione followed him in. The other men, trailing in from the changing rooms joined soon after. Luna levitated in a box of tequila, limes, salt, and a very fruity-looking mix to the side of the hot tub. “Margaritas, boys?”

There was a chorus of yesses. Harry felt extremely discomfited. Malfoy caught his eye, smirking. He dropped his towel and Harry gaped. He was _not_ wearing the same black swim trunks as he had in Australia. Harry wasn’t even sure he was wearing something _legal_. Merlin god, it was going to be a long night.

After his second margarita and the third time he’d had to bat away a wandering hand beneath the water, Harry swam over to sit next to Hermione, who was, on the whole, a safer bet. She snapped her fingers to dry the water from them, turned a page, and returned her hand to the side of the pool, fingers dangling in the water.

“Hello, Harry. Having a good time?” She picked up her margarita and took a sip.

“Not precisely,” he said. He eyed the seven men on the other side of the tub, feeling hunted. Malfoy though—Malfoy was lounging on a bench in the sauna, a towel slung low around his hips. Harry could see him through the glass. His eyes were closed and he looked utterly debauched.

“How about Ruby?” Hermione said, turning another page. 

Harry shrugged, and struggled to think about not-Malfoy. “He’s really, erm, sexy.”

“All that red hair,” Hermione agreed.

Harry hoped this was getting filmed because Ron was going to have Kneazles. Kneazles of jealousy. Maybe next time he’d think twice about fucking with Harry. He turned to Dennis’ camera and smirked. 

“You should go talk to him,” Hermione continued, turning another page. 

Harry scowled. She turned another page. When he realized that Hermione had no intention whatsoever of talking to him again until he did so, he swam over to the other side of the pool where Ruby was lounging with a glass of barrel-aged whiskey. 

Harry smiled at him shyly. “‘Lo.”

Ruby looked him up and down, grinning. “Hello, Harry. What can I do for you?”

Harry blushed again. Ruby wasn’t much of a talker, but Merlin, his arms were even bigger up close than Harry’d thought. He ran his eyes over the one nearest him, laid out against the edge of the heated pool. “Having a good time in Barcelona?”

Ruby glanced around at all the naked and half-naked Barcelonan men. “ _Definitely_. How about that piece, eh?” He nodded at a tall, thin blond on the far side of the room, laughing with his mates. 

Harry followed his gaze. “Um—sure, if you’re into that.”

“Into a lot of things,” Ruby said, giving Harry a significant look. “Sometimes all at once.” He looked back at the tall blond, and Harry, feeling annoyed, made an excuse and swam off. So maybe Ruby wasn’t the right bloke for him. Or rather, maybe he wasn’t the right bloke for Ruby. Well, that was quite all right with Harry. 

He would just go sit in the sauna for a while. That couldn’t be a bad idea at all.

-x-

They fell back against the door in Malfoy’s room, skin hot and touching all over. Harry fitted his mouth to Malfoy’s, ashamed at the needy sound he made when he did. He ran his fingers through Malfoy’s hair, letting his fingers tangle and wishing he could never untangle them.

“Couldn’t stop thinking about you all fucking night,” Harry growled.

Malfoy broke away to kiss down his jaw and neck and Harry threw his head back, allowing anything, everything. His skin was fevered and slick with heat and desire. “Don’t speak,” Malfoy whispered, his breath hot and humid over Harry’s ear. “They’ll hear.” 

Harry bit his lip, nodding. Malfoy nipped at his earlobe and then continued down. He kissed down Harry’s chest, pausing only long enough to suck each of his nipples and soon he was dropping to the floor, his knees thumping against the wood. He laved at Harry’s hipbones as his fingers worked open the buttons of Harry’s jeans. He tugged them sharply down and off Harry’s legs and Harry gasped, biting his lip to keep from making a sound. He could feel Malfoy’s hot breath panting against his prick through the fabric of his pants. 

He barely breathed. It’d been so long. _So long_.

Malfoy looked up at him. The light shining through the window caught his eyes and made them flash. Harry bit his lip and for a long moment, they just stared at one another, unspeaking. Then Malfoy looked down, tugging Harry’s pants down his thighs and legs. Harry kicked them away, feeling at once eager and nervous. 

Malfoy opened his mouth and wrapped his lips around the head of Harry’s cock and Harry bit down on his hand to stifle his moans. It was so, so very good, and it had been years and years since anyone had done this for Harry, but fifteen minutes later, he was no closer to coming than he was in interdepartmental meetings at work.

“Am I not…?” Malfoy trailed off, uncertainly. It was the first time Harry’d ever seen him look as though his self-esteem wasn’t a hundred and ten per cent.

“I can’t,” Harry breathed. He shook his head, frustrated and humiliated. “I never could.”

Malfoy stared at him while Harry’s face got progressively redder. “Never?” he whispered. Harry shook his head. “What do you need?”

Harry bit his lip. “Inside me,” he breathed.

Malfoy hesitated only a second before standing and wrapping his arms around Harry’s thighs. He hoisted him up and Harry wrapped his legs around him to keep from falling. Malfoy brought him to the bed and they fell on it. It slid across the floor and they froze, listening for movement or voices in the adjoining rooms. They waited a full minute before Harry slid all the way up the bed, Malfoy crawling carefully over him. He bent to kiss Harry again, slower this time. Harry’s fingers curled around Malfoy’s biceps, his body arching up to meet his. 

He pulled away, panting and Malfoy kneeled up to retrieve his wand from his holster. He cast a lubricant spell, dripping warm oil from the tip of his wand onto his fingers. Harry watched, unconsciously spreading his legs further apart. Malfoy smirked at him as he leaned forward again, bracing himself on one hand to kiss Harry’s mouth while his other traced up the cleft of Harry’s arse, circling his hole.

He _wanted_ this so much. Malfoy’s first finger slid slowly inside. Harry gasped. He canted his hips up, aching for more contact, more movement, just _more_ , and Malfoy obliged him, sliding his finger in and out, in and out, in the most insidiously slow way, rubbing over Harry’s prostate. Malfoy was watching his face, his eyes flickering as he took in each of Harry’s responses and reacting to them. When Harry’s back arched, Malfoy pressed harder; when his chest heaved, he rubbed harder. Harry wasn’t even sure when he’d managed to get three fingers inside him, but he was delirious from the pleasure of it.

He turned his head, closing his eyes and biting down on Malfoy’s pillow to keep from making a sound. Then, suddenly, he felt wet heat engulfing his cock and the surge of white-hot pleasure that came with it. He pulled himself up on his elbows to watch as Malfoy sucked at his cock while he fucked Harry with three slick fingers. 

_I’m going to come,_ he realized suddenly. _Oh my god, he’s going to make me come._ But he couldn’t say any of this, despite how significant it was, because the walls were paper thin and Michael Corner was just on the other side. He bit down hard on his wrist, breathing quickly through his nose as he watched Malfoy suck and finger-fuck him, his hips thrusting up of their own volition, and then it was just too much, the delicious feeling too much, and Harry’s back arched all the way off the bed as he emptied himself in Malfoy’s hot, waiting mouth.

It seemed to last forever, and Malfoy didn’t stop suckling him until the sensation was almost too much to bear. Harry fell back against the bed and Malfoy crawled up his body, kneeling on either side of his shoulders. He pulled Harry’s face up by the back of his neck and fed him his cock and Harry wrapped his lips around it eagerly, his eyes meeting Malfoy’s as he sucked and swallowed around him. Malfoy was staring right at him, fucking his mouth with deep strokes of his hips. Harry reached up and fondled his balls, sucking hard, and Malfoy gasped, spilling hot ropes of come straight down Harry’s throat.

He pumped into Harry’s mouth until he was spent, and then he carefully moved off to lay down next to him, his thighs trembling the whole while. Harry exhaled heavily. He was grinning, and he could not make himself stop. He stared up at the ceiling, tracing the old plastered-over crack there and smiled like a bloody loon.

Malfoy turned to look at him. “What’s so funny?” he whispered.

Harry shook his head, still smiling. “Nothing. Nothing’s funny at all. This is the most amazing moment of my life.”

Malfoy smirked. “Well, I know I’m good, but I didn’t think I was _that_ good. The most amazing moment of your entire life, you say?”

Harry nodded. “No one’s ever made me come before.”

Malfoy pulled himself up on one elbow to look down at Harry. His face was contorted with disbelief. “No one? Ever? You’re twenty-six years old.” Belatedly, they both remembered that silencing spells existed and Malfoy cast one. He said, “You’ve never come without something in your arse, and you’ve never come from someone else pleasuring you?”

“Nope, never,” said Harry. He grinned at Malfoy. “I guess it is a little funny that it’s you who finally did it.” He sighed happily. “Honestly, I thought I’d die without ever experiencing an orgasm from anyone but myself.”

Malfoy quirked a grin. He had a rather nice grin, actually. And his cheeks, when they were flushed from exertion, were quite nice, too. “I wish that I could brag about this, but I’d much rather have a shot at a second go, so I won’t.”

Harry eyed him. “Never?”

Malfoy shrugged. “We can negotiate after this programme. I’ll give you a free pass for the duration of this ridiculous show.”

Harry laughed. “God, you are such a twat, Malfoy.”

He laughed, too, but it seemed a little forced. “Sorry Potter. I’ve got a kid to feed, you know.”

Harry did know. He wondered if Scorpius was cute...if he was having fun with Malfoy’s secretary, whomever that was, if he was happy...if he needed another parent.

-x-

Eliminations had never been easier. Malfoy stood in the front row, holding the Snitch that had been delivered to him early that morning. Harry knew he should feel guilty for sleeping with one of the contenders, but he absolutely one hundred per cent did not. Because he’d finally come from sex. For the first time ever. This was the second time he’d given his first Snitch to Malfoy, and he hoped it was pissing Ron right off.

“The free Snitch went to Draco Malfoy. I’ve got five Snitches left to give out. Those of you who receive one will be continuing on with us to Brazil. Those who don’t will be returning home tonight. The first Snitch I’ll give out tonight is going to Dune.”

Dune gave him a ruddy-cheeked smile as he stalked over to collect his Snitch. Harry gave the next one to Hermione, and made sure to stare directly into the cameras as he did so, so that Ron would know that Harry knew exactly what he was doing. Then he gave one to Titus, because he was still a good-looking fuck, even if he did go a bit wild on the margaritas. The last two went to Socorro and Zeph, leaving just Ruby and Michael Corner without Snitches. Michael was a nice bloke, but Harry really didn’t get any fuck-me vibes from him, and Ruby was…Merlin, was Ruby gorgeous, but Harry could tell when someone wasn’t interested in him. Harry gave them an apologetic smile and they were good sports about it. 

Then Javier said that the lighting had been all wrong and they’d had to re-shoot the whole thing, which was bloody humiliating since everyone still had to act surprised and Michael and Ruby had to pretend like they didn’t know they were getting dumped.

When filming was finally done for the evening, Harry let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Barcelona was a beautiful city and he’d enjoyed his time here, but he was ready to move on. 

He was ready to find the right man for him and take him home to London.


	4. Rio de Janeiro

# 4\. Rio de Janeiro, Brazil

“Welcome to Rio, fellas!” Dennis chirped when their Portkey landed. “Well, fellas and Hermione.”

She barely looked up from her perusal of the 2005 _Frommer’s Portable Rio de Janeiro_. “It’s fine, Dennis,” she said, absently. “I’m used to it.”

Luna got them all settled into their hotels rooms and then swanned into Harry’s, again without knocking. “Hi, Luna,” he said, not bothering to look away from the view of Copacabana visible from his balcony. He’d spent the whole night thinking of Malfoy and today looked to be shaping up similarly. Harry smiled, unable to help himself.

“Hello, Harry,” she said. “Isn’t Brazil lovely?”

“The twenty minutes I’ve seen of it is,” Harry said.

She sighed happily. “Imagine what a whole hour would be like.”

Harry suspected he wouldn’t have to imagine it; only wait another forty minutes. 

“I’ve arranged for us to enjoy an afternoon at the beach—you can wear your red swimsuit from Barcelona. Javier’s suggested a sandcastle-building exercise for the contenders. Then tomorrow night we’ve got VIP tickets to Carneval. I expect you to show some enthusiasm there, Harry. We have ratings to consider.”

“What, exactly, is entailed by ‘enthusiasm’?” Harry asked, not unreasonably in his opinion.

But the thought of Malfoy in his swim trunks again…now _that_ Harry could get enthusiastic about. Luna grinned at him, but refused to say. 

After lunch, Harry found himself on the beach, looking not out-of-place in the same embarrassing Gryffindor-red Snitch speedos. Luna, in a bright yellow string bikini, and the camera crew, in a gradient of blue speedos, had the remaining six contenders gathered around six identical mounds of sand with six identical sets of pails and trowels. Hermione was getting a lot of use out of her transfigured red one-piece.

Harry spent most of the instructions checking out the other fit beachgoers, but immediately perked up when Luna said, “The sand sculptures must represent not what’s most important to Harry, but what’s most important to _you_. You may not choose people or family.”

Well, that was a neat turn of events. For once, his own psyche wouldn’t be the one on display. 

“You’ve got one hour to complete your sculpture.”

“Any guesses on what your contenders will build?” Dennis asked, appearing out of nowhere in front of Harry. “What do you think is most important to the Seekers of your heart?”

“Erm,” said Harry. When nothing came to mind, except the obvious for Hermione, it occurred to Harry that—he really didn’t know much about his dates at all. “I couldn’t even guess.”

Dennis sighed. “Harry, don’t be boring. Just guess something.”

Harry grimaced. “Well, I guess Titus might build something related to London, or having a good time. And Zeph might…well I rather suspect he might build something that can’t be shown to viewers beneath the age of seventeen.”

Dennis laughed. “What about Draco?”

He wondered if Malfoy would do something Quidditch-related because that was really all Harry could remember of him, but didn’t think so. He suspected Malfoy would surprise him the most—he always had. Harry shook his head, grinning. “Malfoy will be predictably unpredictable.”

“Excellent sound bite, thanks Harry!” Dennis said. 

Harry left them to it, deciding instead to explore the balneario with Javier tagging along behind him, probably filming his bum. Harry walked along the shore for a bit, letting the ebb and flow of the tide splash against his ankles. He stared out at the horizon, feeling peaceful for the first time in years. It was so ridiculous, really; he’d hated Malfoy for years, but over the past two weeks, he’d come to like him a little bit. And, _Merlin_ , the orgasm hadn’t hurt. Harry bit his lip, reliving their night together. He wanted for it to happen again. Thinking about it brought a stupid smile to his face and Javier asked him what he was thinking about.

Harry shook his head, grinning. “I really like one of them.”

“Which one?” asked Javier. 

Harry flushed hard. “Malfoy,” he admitted. His face was burning, and not from the sun. 

“He’s nice,” Javier said, causing Harry to turn full around and stare at the camera. _Nice?_ Who could ever think Malfoy, of all people, was _nice_? “You don’t think so?”

“No one thinks Malfoy’s _nice_. He’s a git.”

Javier shrugged. “You’re the one who likes him. I’ve only just met him two weeks ago.”

Harry suspected that the big names in the war, or perhaps even that there _was_ a war, had not made it as far as Colombia. He turned back around, kicking at a wave rolling in. “I don’t know why I like him, precisely.”

Javier continued following him. “Attraction doesn’t always make sense.”

That was definitely true, Harry thought. He detoured back inland, walking along the esplanade and admiring the meticulously installed swirly pavement. Half an hour later, Javier reminded him to return for the sandcastle judging.

Malfoy was developing a lovely tan, Harry thought as he approached. He couldn’t see what his structure was yet, but he could see a lovely view of his bum as he bent over it, applying the finishing touches. 

Luna came up to him, clipboard in hand, straw hat on head. “Just in time, Harry. We’ll start with Zeph and work our way down the line. She put a hand on the small of Harry’s back and ushered him over to Zeph’s sand sculpture, which Harry realized with some British embarrassment, was in fact, a cock. It was, at least not erect.

“Hello, Harry,” Zeph purred. He stood proudly next to his flaccid sand phallus. 

Harry cleared his throat. “Er, what would you say this represents about yourself?” he asked, fearing the answer.

“I’m just so happy to be a man. Even when I don’t have an erection, thus why I made the penis soft.”

Harry wrinkled his brow. “Well, er, that’s great to hear. Since you’re on a gay dating show, I mean.”

Zeph nodded. Quickly, Harry moved them along to the next sculpture, which was Titus’. He’d recreated a startlingly accurate and sturdy rendition of the London Eye. “I love London,” he said. “It’s the best city in the world. I’d never leave.”

Harry smiled at him. “I love London, too.” It wasn’t the most creative sand sculpture, but Harry was impressed with the skill involved. Next they saw Hermione’s. She’d built a five-foot-seven-inch (Harry knew because it was exactly as tall as her) scale model of human DNA. 

“I didn’t realize you were so into biology,” he said. She shrugged, smiling proudly at the sculpture. 

“It’s Rosie’s DNA, actually,” she said. “Luna said we couldn’t do a person. She didn’t say we couldn’t do their DNA sequence.”

“I didn’t realize that DNA was noticeably different among people,” Harry said, eyebrows raised. The DNA strand looked like any other DNA strand he’d seen in primary school science class.

“Yes, well, I’ve been studying it at work,” Hermione said stiffly, and Harry knew he’d annoyed her. She pointed to the top. “DNA is something that wizards still don’t bother to understand, but as you can see, it’s very interesting indeed. In fact, here is her twenty-fourth chromosome pair, Chromosome zero. That’s her magic.” She beamed at Harry, the very picture of a proud mother.

“Wow,” said Harry. “You never said you were working on this.” 

She narrowed her eyes. “I did, in fact. It was last month when you and Ron were listening to the Arrows game on the wireless and you asked me why I was swabbing her cheek with a cotton bud.”

Harry had nothing to say to that because now that she pointed it out, he did remember tuning her out when the Arrows’ Seeker went for the Snitch in a very daring, very prolonged chase. He hurried over to the next contender, Dune. Dune’s sandcastle was a regular sandcastle and boring. When Harry asked him what the castle represented, Dune, predictably, told him he wanted a fairytale romance. Harry suspected that he would be relegated to Prince Charming in such a tale, and was therefore disappointed because Dune had otherwise been a pretty decent date. 

Next was Socorro, who’d built a Muggle aeroplane. “I like flying,” he said, when Harry approached. “Any kind of flying. Brooms, carpets, hang gliders…anything, really. I thought once I’d be a Muggle pilot, but they’re very careful with references and I didn’t have any legitimate school history. Beauxbatons doesn’t integrate with Muggles.” 

Harry was duly impressed by this and let it be known. “I love flying,” he said. “I’ve never been in a Muggle plane. Is it fun?”

“Terrifying,” Socorro said. “But I keep doing it anyway.”

Harry could appreciate that. Finally, there was Malfoy. Harry didn’t think anyone could beat Socorro’s sculpture, and really, he couldn’t. It wasn’t better, not at all—but it struck Harry in another way, a strange, uncomfortable way. “What is it?” Harry asked him.

Malfoy glanced back at the sculpture, a sketchy look on his face. He cleared his throat. “It’s the present. Time.”

Harry looked at the sculpture and then back to Malfoy. “It looks like a human brain,” he said doubtfully.

“Yes, because time is a construct of the mind,” Malfoy said. “There was the past, but it only exists if I let it exist and if other people let it exist. It’s only real here, in my brain.” He gestured at the brain again, and when he looked back at Harry, his expression was challenging. “I refuse to be bound by the past. I only recognize the present and the future.”

“That’s…remarkably shortsighted,” Harry said. Malfoy’s explanation was unsettling. There was something about it that just didn’t sit well with Harry, but he supposed that their worldviews had always been rather volatile when combined.

Malfoy’s expression blanked, but he remained straight-backed and his gaze didn’t leave Harry’s until Harry, uncomfortable, turned away. He ended up giving the free Snitch to Socorro, but he stayed up the whole night thinking over what Malfoy said. Was it really so bad to try to forget the past? He thought it was; after all, it was easy to repeat history when one chose to ignore it.

Or was it just as hard to forget it and move on? Sometimes Harry, when he woke up screaming and terrified from nightmares of Snatchers and huge snakes, would wonder if he could ever move on completely. And he wondered if Malfoy was able to ignore all that, if he didn’t have nightmares. Or maybe he did, but he refused to acknowledge that they were significant. Maybe he was still able to live his life anyway.

-x-

Carneval, Harry thought, as he downed his third caipirinha, was a fucking amazing idea. He was also drunk as fuck. They had a really prime parade-viewing spot and Luna had them all dressed up in Carneval-appropriate garb. There were a lot of feathers, and really very little else. Harry was not sure what he was wearing was legal in England, but his cock and bollocks were covered at least so he was grateful. Malfoy looked rather like a drag queen, but he seemed to be enjoying himself and Harry, who kept sneaking glances at him when the cameras were facing away from him, was enjoying the view. Merlin, _that arse_.

On his fifth caipirinha, which Harry suspected was stronger than a typical firewhiskey and ice water, the world was spinning pleasantly and the blaring noise of the parade fuzzed into a dull, gently rolling hum in his head. Zeph was currently snogging a very fetching parade performer that he’d somehow coaxed from the parade itself. Harry didn’t think that this was how his dating show was supposed to go, but he was too warm and drunk to care. All of the cameramen ran over to film Zeph and Harry took the opportunity to sidle up to Malfoy. He stumbled into him and Malfoy fell against the barrier.

“‘Lo, Malfoy,” Harry said, beaming.

“Potter,” Malfoy said, eyes raking down Harry’s body. He swayed closer to Harry, trailing a finger down Harry’s chest. “I was thinking about you last night. I want—”

“I want, too,” Harry said, leaning in. He wanted desperately to kiss Malfoy, to feel his warm mouth and get drunk on him like he was on alcohol. He thought if he were with Malfoy, he’d never be sober again. He’d be drunk forever because Malfoy was so intoxicating, so addicting, everything about him was arousing and sensual and infuriating and— 

“How do you feel, Harry?” Luna yelled at him. He spun away from Malfoy, eyes wide. Miles was with Luna, filming them both. How much had they seen? How much had they filmed?

Harry had no idea. It really didn’t matter anyway since what came out of his mouth was, “I feel amazing!”

Luna giggled. “That’s great, Harry! How do you feel about the contenders?”

“I love everyone!” Harry said. 

“How about Draco here?” asked Miles. “Love him, too?”

Harry nodded vigorously. “He’s like a cocktail.”

Luna traded an indecipherable look with Miles. 

Because Harry was drunk and not thinking clearly, if at all, he then chose to add, unprompted, “I want to have sex with everyone probably. Except Hermione.” He turned to the camera and blinked, trying to focus his vision. He thought he was maybe wearing the wrong pair of glasses...like maybe someone else’s pair. Since he couldn’t see very clearly. “I won’t have sex with Hermione, Ron. At least not unless she’s hiding a cock in her trousers, but I don’t think she is because she’s always in that little swimsuit lately. Merlin, I’d never realized there was so much of Hermione I’d never seen before.”

“Time for bed, I think,” Dennis said, flipping closed his magicamcorder. “You are so going to hate yourself tomorrow morning.”

“It’s okay,” Harry said to the two remaining cameras. He leant back into Malfoy and felt Malfoy’s fever-hot arms snake around his waist. “I’ve felt that way after every day of filming anyway.”

-x-

Harry was still a little hung-over the next evening when it was time for eliminations. Dennis handed him the bag of wiggling Snitches and his stomach churned as he watched the bag undulating, feeling as though his insides were doing the same. He thought he would be equally happy napping or sicking up in that moment. The filming lights flashed on above him and he blinked, moaning pitifully as his head pounded.

They were getting close to the end now and every choice would be important. After tonight, there would only be four contenders left. Harry did not think that he was in any state of health or mind to make such an important decision right now, and yet, the red lights of three cameras were blinking at him anyway.

“Thank you to everyone for what I think was a really great time last night, but which I won’t be sure of until I see the episode on magicbox,” Harry began. “I really don’t remember much of it.” He heard Hermione snort and pointedly ignored her.

“So as for the Snitches. The free Snitch went to Socorro because I really liked his sand sculpture. I’ve got three left.” He gave the next one to Malfoy because—well, Malfoy. Then the third one went to Hermione because—well, Hermione. His final choice came down to Zeph, Titus, and Dune. Zeph was right out since Harry was pretty sure he remembered him snogging another man at the parade. Titus or Dune? Harry liked them both, really. Dune had those lovely freckles and Titus loved London like Harry did. In the end, he gave the Snitch to Titus because Dune’s fairytale sandcastle made him uncomfortable. He didn’t want to be anyone’s hero anymore.


	5. New York City

# 5\. New York City, United States

New York City was a whirlwind of activity from the moment they arrived. Luna’d scheduled a tour of the city that took up the entire first day and left Harry raw and exhausted and a little bit lighter than he’d felt in a long time. They saw the Statue of Liberty, and on the crowded ferry back to Manhattan, Malfoy pressed close to his side, the heat of his body taking off the chill from the ocean breeze. Harry shivered anyway. 

He thought maybe it was the way that Malfoy always seemed to be there, always seemed to be next to him, his body warm and solid and as if it were connected to Harry on some fundamental, basic level that Harry’d never experienced with anyone else before. It was sort of amazing, really. It reminded him of how Ron and Hermione always seemed to be glued together, how they seemed to be able to read one another’s minds and just know what the other was thinking, how their magic seemed so compatible and how amazed Harry always was when Ron would pick up Hermione’s wand to summon a fresh nappy for Rosie and it would work just fine. 

Sort of like how Malfoy’s wand had always worked for him.

He spent the whole day thinking of Malfoy, and feeling uncomfortable because of it.

-x-

There was a knock at his hotel room door, which never happened. Luna and the camera crew generally just swept in, so when the door remained closed, Harry cautiously got up, wand in hand, and looked through the peephole. Malfoy. Harry’s heart pounded, adrenalin and anticipation rushing through him. He unlatched the door and swung it open.

Malfoy smiled at him, coy. “Hello, Potter.”

Harry stepped back. “I don’t care what you came for; get in.” Malfoy grinned. Harry didn’t care because he’d really wanted to get off with another person at least twice in his life. That made it “multiple” times. Once was just…once.

Harry slammed him against the door as soon as he was inside, pressing his body to Malfoy’s and tangling their fingers together above Malfoy’s head. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” Harry said between kisses. “Rio was horrible.”

“I rather liked it,” Malfoy gasped. Harry thrust his hips forward in reply and Malfoy arched his neck back to give Harry better access. “The sun, the sand, the food.”

Harry growled. “Git.” He nipped at Malfoy’s earlobe. “I want you to fuck me.”

“Holy fuck, _yes_ ,” Malfoy said. He pushed Harry back, tugging him over to the bed and stripping him with quick efficiency. Harry kissed his way down Malfoy’s neck while his fingers worked at Malfoy’s shirt buttons, and soon they were both naked and hard. Malfoy pushed him back onto the bed, and Harry grinned at him, delighted with this turn of events. He erected a silencing charm and tossed his wand to the floor.

Malfoy made quick work of a lubricating spell, and then his fingers were sliding deep inside Harry, making him arch with need. His cock was leaking all over his belly and though he yearned to touch it, he held back, knowing it was going to be so much better when Malfoy was finally inside him. He prepared Harry quickly, three slippery fingers working his tight hole open like he knew Harry’s body completely. Maybe one day he would, Harry thought dazedly. He let himself be rocked back and forth as Malfoy finger-fucked him open, and whined with need when the fingers disappeared.

Malfoy smirked at him. He was taking an unnecessarily long time slicking up his own cock. Harry could see pre-come leaking from the bright pink head and suddenly remembered having that delicious cock shoved down his throat, swallowing all the come from it.

“Come on,” said Harry. “Fuck me.”

“Oh, I will,” Malfoy said. 

He lined himself up and pushed in with one smooth stroke. Harry gasped. He hadn’t quite been expecting that, no matter how much he fucked himself on his own fingers or his collection of dildos. Even being stretched open with three of Malfoy’s gorgeous fingers didn’t compare to the sensation of being stuffed full of hot, hard cock. Harry wanted to come just from that deliciously sinful knowledge, but Malfoy tugged on his bollocks, tsking, and kept him from the edge.

“So close already? And I thought you couldn’t come so easily.”

“Just need something in my arse,” Harry said, gasping as Malfoy began to move. “I’ve never been fucked before.”

Malfoy paused. Harry whined, canting his hips up to tempt him into going again. “What?”

Harry glared at him. “Will you please fuck me?”

“How’ve you never been fucked before if you can only get off like this?” asked Malfoy, slowly resuming his strokes. 

Harry shrugged, his face reddening. “Um, I don’t know. I dated Ginny for a long time, and then I dated a couple of men, but they wanted me to fuck them, and I did, but I could just…never come. Ever. It’s why no one ever wanted to stay with me.”

Malfoy grinned. “Little did they know that they were missing out on such a hot piece of arse.” He punctuated this with a quick, deep thrust that made Harry moan like a slag. “Merlin, Potter, your arse is divine. I could fuck you for days.”

“God, yes, please yes,” Harry said, imagining the very thing. He wanted Malfoy to fuck him open and slippery and use his arse like his own personal sex toy. The thought of it alone was bringing him close to the edge. His cock was leaking copiously, sticky strings of clear pre-come stretching from his prick to his stomach, dripping off when Malfoy thrust particularly hard. 

“Potter you kinky fuck,” Malfoy said. “God, your arse. I’ve thought about filling you up with my come for years.”

Harry whined, incapable at this point of making actual words. He reached down to tug his cock but Malfoy batted his hand away. “I don’t think so, love. You need your arse fucked to come? That’s what you’re going to get.”

Harry moaned. “Oh god.”

“Oh, _Draco_ , you mean,” Draco said, panting. “God’s not the one who’s going to make you come untouched.” Harry whined again, so tense and needy that he couldn’t help reaching for his cock again. Malfoy smacked his hand away once more. “Can’t be trusted, can you?” he said, suddenly pulling out.

“Please,” Harry begged, thrusting his hips up to try to reach Malfoy’s prick. Malfoy grabbed his hips and flipped him over. He tugged Harry’s arse up in the air and pushed his shoulders down. He pushed back in and then leaned over Harry’s back to grab hold of his hands, preventing him from touching himself.

“Please what?” he whispered into Harry’s ear. He licked a trail around the rim and Harry shuddered, shoving his arse back on Malfoy’s cock like a cat in heat. “Please fuck you?”

“Yes!” Harry said.

“Slowly?” asked Malfoy, slowing down, and Harry wanted to cry. God, every time Malfoy thrust into him, his prick rubbed perfectly over Harry’s prostate, and he was shivering and fevered with the need to come. It’d never felt this good, even with his favourite vibrating dildo. But it was just too slow. He writhed, aching for more contact, but Malfoy held tight to his hands and kept his movements restricted.

“Or fast?” He sped up, pounding against that sweet spot inside Harry relentlessly. Harry moaned brokenly, meeting Malfoy thrust for thrust. “Fuck, yeah, you like it that way, don’t you?” Malfoy said, his words staccato sharp as he thrust in again and again. “Come on, Potter. Come on my cock, you kinky slag.”

Harry screamed. His body tightened with sudden, overwhelming pleasure as his orgasm ripped through him, come shooting from his cock and covering the sheets. Harry’s fingers laced with Malfoy’s and squeezed as he continued to come.

He felt Malfoy stiffen inside him, gasping loudly and curling around Harry’s body as he emptied himself inside it. Finally they came down, but Harry wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to move again. It seemed like ages before Malfoy got up the energy to pull out, but Harry was so sensitized that even that made him moan. He flopped down on the bed, face first, not even caring that he was on top of a rapidly cooling puddle of spunk or that Malfoy’s was dripping out of his arse.

“Lovegood’s going to be looking for us soon,” Malfoy said breathlessly. “We should get dressed for sightseeing.”

Harry waved his hand at him, though it came out more like flopping. “You can see New York anytime. I want to see you now.”

“Tsk, tsk, Potter,” Malfoy said. “You aren’t supposed to show favouritism.”

“You aren’t my favourite,” Harry said because he didn’t want Malfoy to get a big head, and also, because he was afraid of what it might mean if Malfoy _were_ his favourite.

Malfoy paused. Harry did, too, confused. “I’m not?”

Harry hesitated. “I don’t know, really.”

“How could you not know?” 

This was quickly going the opposite way of how Harry wanted it to, which was Malfoy shoving something in his arse (again) and making him come over and over (again). “We’ve only met again two weeks ago. After not seeing each other once for eight years.”

Malfoy shrugged. “We’ve known each other our whole lives, Potter.”

“Yeah, and we hated each other for most of it,” Harry said. 

Malfoy looked away. “Look, Potter. I need you to choose me. Send home your good-looking blokes. Pick me.”

“Hermione can stay?” Harry asked, amused.

“I’d almost rather you picked her in the end just because I know it would piss Weasley right off. But—I _need_ you to pick me.”

“Why?” asked Harry. He pushed back, feeling suddenly discomfited by Malfoy’s presence. Had he been leading Harry on this entire time? Had this all just been…part of the game?

Malfoy rolled onto his back, looking everywhere but at Harry. “It’s not what you think. Not…not exactly.”

“I don’t know what I think,” Harry said, shaking his head. 

Malfoy looked at him. “It’s like this. My family lost most of our money after the war with all the reparations. They let us keep the Manor, thank Merlin, but my income can’t cover the upkeep, so we’ve been trying to sell. No one wants an ancestral manor home where a dark lord resided, though. And I’ve got a son now. Scorpius, I mentioned him. He’s three months old. My wife left me right after she had him and I can’t afford him. He’s not even weaned yet. I’ve got a wet nurse but she requires a salary, of course, and how am I going to pay his school fees when he’s older? Or even just get his necessities. I had to promise my assistant a Christmas bonus just to get someone to watch him while I was here. Making potions doesn’t pay much. But this programme’s got a one million galleon prize if you pick me. I could raise my son with that much money, with enough left over to purchase house-elves for the Manor’s upkeep.”

Harry moved off the bed, feeling the need to put distance between them. “You don’t…actually like me then. You aren’t attracted to me.”

“Merlin, _yes_ , I’m attracted to you!” Malfoy said, finally meeting his eyes. “God, Potter. I’ve been attracted to you since we were fourteen.”

“What?” Harry breathed.

“When I signed up for this farce of a magicbox programme,” Malfoy said, “I had no idea you’d be the person I was competing for. But when I flew down from that bridge in Sydney and saw you standing there…it felt…right. Like we were always supposed to cross paths again, only this time, we weren’t supposed to diverge.”

Harry looked away, blinking quickly. “How can I believe you now?”

Malfoy pursed his lips, looking away. “I don’t know.” He swallowed. “But can anyone else do for you what I just did?”

Harry scowled. He bent to retrieve his clothes and hurried to put them on, belatedly remembering to spell away the trail of come running down his thighs. “You should go.”

Malfoy frowned, but did get up. Harry turned away while he dressed. He heard the hotel door close as he slipped out, feeling emptier than he had before he started this stupid game.

-x-

Hermione’s eyes were wide and her hand was over her mouth and she didn’t seem to be changing that anytime soon.

“Say something,” Harry said, tiredly. He looked over her shoulder and then over his, checking to make sure they were still alone. Somehow they’d managed to sneak away from the camera crew, but no doubt they would find him shortly.

“Harry,” Hermione breathed. “You didn’t.”

“Twice,” he said. “In Barcelona first.”

Her eyes widened even more. She looked around, too. “It’s against the rules,” she hissed. He shrugged. His eyes felt suddenly quite prickly and he blinked several times to ease the feeling. “Well—how was it?”

Harry let out a frustrated huff. “It was—it was mind-blowing. He…made me come. Both times.”

She gave him a terribly sad look that told him that she and Ron had indeed known about his problem long before now. “Really?” she said.

“Yeah.” He reached up, pulling at his hair to try to relieve some of his frustration. It didn’t work. “God, Hermione. It was—I thought he might be good for me, but he just wants the prize money.”

“Is that what he said?”

Harry nodded. “He said he’s attracted to me, too, but he really needs to win. For his son.”

“Oh,” Hermione said, as if this explained everything. Harry glared at the lovely green grass covering Central Park. “Well—that might be the reason he signed up, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that he doesn’t want you for you, too.”

“How can it?”

She shrugged. “People will do a lot for their kids, Harry.”

That went straight through his heart like an arrow. Of course he’d never know this since he’d never be able to impregnate anyone and it wasn’t like there were magical orphans waiting to be adopted—magical children were too rare, too much of a commodity, for there to ever be need for an orphanage. “I know,” he growled.

She reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. “Harry, it’ll all work out, one way or another.”

He wrenched himself away. “Easy for you to say. You’ve got Rosie and a husband who can, presumably, make you orgasm.”

She flushed. “Well—er, yes, but Harry—”

“There you are, Harry!” Dennis called jovially, jogging up to them with the camera rolling.

Harry turned away, scowling. Hermione touched his arm, whispered quickly, “Harry maybe you should see if one of the other men could do the same? You need someone to compare him to before you get too worked up.”

And then she stepped away, pretending to examine a small bush as the camera crew descended upon them.

“We’ve got dinner reservations in the Meatpacking District and then an evening at the Monster.”

Harry wrinkled his nose. “What’s the Monster?”

Hermione coughed. “It’s a gay bar, Harry.”

Harry flushed bright red. “Oh.”

-x-

The Monster offered private lap dances. Titus bought him one, and everyone but Hermione stayed to watch him receive it. The man was hot—all big, broad, slick shoulders and tight abs. He undulated over Harry’s lap, grinding his arse into Harry’s erection, and it felt really bloody good, but also really bloody embarrassing because Miles was behind him filming over his shoulder as tight-arsed-dancer danced on him.

Frankly, Harry liked the idea of lap dances, but he’d really rather be the one grinding his own arse down onto a big, hard dick. Socorro caught his eye and grinned, and suddenly Harry imagined himself doing this to Socorro and how delicious it would be to ride his cock on a Muggle aeroplane or a flying carpet or even a broom. Hermione’s words that afternoon rushed back at him as his dancer finished up and collected fifty quid from Titus. 

Malfoy probably wasn’t the only bloke in the world who could get Harry off. Surely he just needed someone else who was willing to fuck him. Harry rather suspected Socorro would be willing to fuck him.

They enjoyed the piano lounge upstairs and Harry managed to choke down a five-dollar Long Island Iced Tea though, frankly, he thought he’d rather drink petrol. They were all a bit hazy by the time Harry sacked up and sidled over to Socorro, who was sitting by the stage, sipping a margarita and listening to the music. 

“Hi,” said Harry, sitting down next to him.

Socorro smiled at him. “Hello, Harry.”

Harry grinned at him, shyly. Suddenly he couldn’t think of anything to say. He knew Dennis was filming him from several booths over; he could feel it, like a sixth sense he’d developed since Portkeying to Australia. At least they tried to be unobtrusive whenever he was talking to one bloke in particular. “Having a good time?”

Socorro nodded. “Definitely. Company’s good, too.” 

“Er.” Harry blushed again. On stage, a skinny bloke was dancing (stripping, really) to classical music a man at a piano was playing. Harry looked away, desperate for conversation inspiration that wasn’t stripper related. His eyes landed on Malfoy, watching them, his face blank of all emotion. Even then, Harry could sense the deeper emotions he was so expertly hiding from the cameras. 

Suddenly, Harry didn’t _want_ to know if other men could make him come. 

He just wanted Malfoy.

He just wanted Malfoy to want him for him.

-x-

Harry stared into his bag of Snitches. He had two because, despite Luna’s frustrated prodding, he’d refused to give out a free one. No one went into eliminations safe tonight. Harry looked up at his four remaining dates knowing that his angst was written all over his face. Distantly, he heard Miles and Javier shifting restlessly behind him somewhere, waiting for him to speak or act or do anything at all. Across from him, he could see the red blinking light of Dennis’ camera. It’d been blinking for ten minutes now.

Harry shook his head. “I don’t know who to pick,” he admitted to them. His eyes caught Malfoy, looking down and away, even though Harry didn’t want to look at him. He didn’t want to be drawn to Malfoy or to think of him constantly. But he did anyway, and he _hated_ it.

“Hermione,” Harry said abruptly. 

She looked at him, startled, before walking up to him and taking the first Snitch. 

“Harry,” she murmured, her eyes flicking back and forth as she studied his face. He shrugged in response. “I’m not a real choice.”

Harry swallowed. “Is anyone?” he murmured back. His microphone would pick it up, but the other three men wouldn’t hear it at least. 

“Oh, Harry,” she said again, her voice soft. 

She returned to her place in the line-up with her Snitch and Harry forced himself to look at Socorro, Titus, and Malfoy. Harry did not want to want Malfoy. He didn’t want to be trapped by the intensity of emotion he felt when he was around Malfoy. Whether hatred or lust or something else entirely, Malfoy was never _easy_ , and Harry _deserved_ easy.

And yet when he opened his mouth again, it didn’t take a Seer to guess who he picked. In the end, even when Harry hated him, he could never let Malfoy go. 

As always, Malfoy was his weakness.


	6. San Francisco

# 6\. San Francisco, United States

Their party was not as rambunctious landing in the San Francisco Portkey Arrivals terminal as it had been in other cities. Hermione kept giving him pitying looks, which he hated, and Malfoy kept giving him appraising looks, which he also hated. Harry, for his part, was miserable with both of his choices. He didn’t want to fuck Hermione so why had he kept her on? And he wanted to fuck Malfoy _desperately_ , but could throw his scrawny arse farther than he trusted him, so why had he kept _him_ on?

Harry accepted that he did not always make the best decisions. And so their sightseeing tour through San Francisco was subdued. Even Luna seemed bummed out, which made Harry feel like the biggest arsehole on the planet because even a prolonged holiday in Malfoy’s dungeon hadn’t bummed Luna out.

“I’m sorry about the ratings,” Harry said to her when she came into his hotel room in the Castro District to brief him on their activities in the city. 

Luna smiled at him, but it wasn’t as big as her normal smiles. “Our ratings will be fine, Harry. We’re the biggest show on magicbox right now. Your loneliness is obvious and poignant, and people are desperate to see you find love.”

Harry, absurdly, felt his eyes prickling. Fuck was he actually considering crying? He hadn’t cried since the war, for fuck’s sake. Except for that one time he stubbed his toe on the cursed roll top desk in Grimmauld and it’d hurt like a motherfucker and his eyes had just teared up in a very manly way. As they were doing now, apparently.

“They can see all that?” he asked.

“Oh, Harry,” Luna said, coming up to him and placing her hands on his shoulders. “You’re so very easy to love. Don’t you know that? Everyone adores you, and not just because you won that silly old war. They empathize with you and watching you fail to mend a heart broken not by a failed relationship but by a lack of one tears them to pieces. They _love_ being torn to pieces.”

“Wonderful,” Harry muttered. He turned to his hotel window and stared moodily at the stupid orange bridge in the distance. Why was it so fucking foggy here? Who the fuck would want to live in so much fucking fog?

“But _I_ don’t like being torn to pieces,” Luna added. He scowled at his reflection in the window. She touched his back. “Harry.”

“What?”

“It’s always been Malfoy.”

“It hasn’t!” Harry said, spinning around. “I fucking hate him. He doesn’t want me. He wants the fucking prize money. Where did you get two million galleons to throw away on me and one of these men anyway? Who the hell would sponsor a dating programme?”

Luna ignored his outburst as she was wont to do. “The _Quibbler_ sponsored it, obviously.”

“It was a stupid idea.”

“Wizarding Britain disagrees with you. And if you find love, is it really such a bad thing?”

“I won’t, though,” Harry said. “That’s the problem. I can’t trust any one of them but Hermione, and she’s not really available.”

“You’d be surprised who you can trust, Harry,” Luna said. Harry didn’t reply, and not long later, she left his room. He remained at the window for a long time, watching the fog settle over the Pacific Ocean.

-x-

The next morning, Luna dragged him out of bed at ten and stuffed a to-go container of a very fishy-smelling soup and three fortune cookies in his hand.

“You missed breakfast.”

Harry stared at the soup. “This is considered breakfast?”

Luna shrugged, striding over to the window and snapping the curtains open. Harry groaned at the sudden influx of light. “I really couldn’t say, Harry. I’m neither a Muggle nor a San Franciscan.”

He really had no idea why he was complaining anyway since he normally ate leftover curry for breakfast most days anyway. He popped the lid off the soup and gave it a tentative sip. Pretty good. He sipped again, opening up a fortune cookie and dipping it in the soup before turning back to Luna, saying, “What’re we doing today? It’s the last date day, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is,” she said. She turned back to him, smiling. “How are you feeling?”

This was perhaps the first time she’d ever asked him that and meant it as a question of his own inner emotional state and not as a sound bite prompt. Harry shrugged. He dunked his fortune cookie again and took another bite. 

“I’m okay,” he said. And he was, mostly. He’d been okay for ten years. No matter what happened here, he’d be okay. He always was.

“Good,” said Luna. “Now finish your breakfast and come downstairs. We’ll be leaving for our date at eleven.”

-x-

“Welcome to the Antique Vibrator Museum!”

“I cannot believe,” said Harry, “that I am being filmed in front of a display case of vibrators.”

“Would you rather be filmed holding a vibrator?” asked Luna. “I can see if the owner will let us take one out for the show.”

“No, thank you,” Harry said quickly. 

The Antique Vibrator Museum was embarrassingly intriguing to Harry. 

Hermione asked many and varied questions of their museum guide, and offered many strong opinions on the concept of hysteria. Harry rather thought that lately he had a case of hysteria himself, and suspected that a mind-blowing orgasm would indeed cure it. None of these piddly little vibrators would be enough for him, but in the Good Vibrations shop…well, Harry couldn’t wait to have a looksee in there. 

“And you’re telling me that medical doctors fondled women to orgasm because a woman being horny was considered a disease,” Hermione said dubiously

“That’s about the sum of it,” Cece, their guide, replied.

Hermione made a face and turned to read over a display of magazine ads for vibrators. Harry tried not to let his eyes slide to Malfoy, who was listening to the spiel with a great deal of attention, seemingly both enraptured and uncomfortable. 

At the end of the tour, they wandered into the shop, which had items more to Harry’s tastes. Dildos, specifically. Large ones, vibrating ones…a new kind that pulsed, even. He wondered if it would be as good as when Malfoy had fucked him, if it would feel as good as his cock thrusting in and out.

Harry picked up one with the unlikely name of Zwei and marvelled at the perfect design. There was a nice little handle and a lovely little curve right at the perfect spot for hitting his prostate. _Three intensity levels and six pulsation patterns!_ the box declared. Harry whimpered, imagining it. He glanced back at Malfoy, who was studying a pack of vegan, cruelty-free, sugar-free, flavoured condoms. As much as Harry desired him, he suspected that the Zwei was his best chance at regular orgasms in future without a side effect of emotional distress. 

Harry chose a black one and refused to acknowledge Miles and the red blinking light on his camera as he followed Harry to the counter. Hermione was already there, arms loaded up with an array of sex toys the likes of which Harry had never even thought of. But as he imagined Mr and Mrs Weasley watching this episode with Ron and Rosie, he couldn’t help but turn to the camera and smirk. 

What was so embarrassing about being filmed buying a dildo when Hermione had twelve different cock rings, two sets of Luna Beads, an Our First Bondage Kit, a pair of Door Jam Cuffs, and…a strap-on harness. Rosie would not be an only child for long at this rate.

In his head, Harry was cackling.

-x-

That night, Harry sat on his hotel bed reading the instruction manual for his Zwei while it charged on the bedside table. Even the diagrams were turning him on. He bit his lip, considering, and then decided, _Sod it_.

He stood up and stripped off his clothes, tossing them in the direction of, but not necessarily on, the chair across the room. A quick rummage in his luggage unearthed his last bottle of lube, and damn it, he should have bought some while he was at Good Vibrations, but he hadn’t thought about it then, being as he was too tightly wound just by having Malfoy near. 

Harry lay back on his bed, slicking up his fingers and tracing them over his entrance. Sometimes he wished he could just pull one off at the wrist and be done with it. The effort it took to get off was the reason Harry so rarely did. Even if he woke up with the most amazing morning wood in history, he’d still never have time to prepare himself and fuck himself on one of his dildos before he had to be at work. And after work, he was too exhausted to want to spend that much time by himself on ‘maintenance.’ Orgasms were like a weekend treat. It would be so much better if it were something he could do with a partner, something that would feel intimate and lovely instead of a requirement of making it through the next week. 

He got a finger in and had himself stretched enough to go for the pulsator when there was a knock at his door. Harry choked and pulled the blankets over himself, expecting Luna and at least one cameraman to burst in. The door stayed closed, and Harry slowly relaxed. After about thirty seconds, the knock came again. Harry scowled. Of course, the one time he was going to enjoy himself and someone had to come by and interrupt it. 

He rolled out of bed and snatched up his dressing gown, tying it around himself as he went to the door. “What,” he said, opening it.

Malfoy stood on the other side.

Harry gaped and then quickly closed his mouth. “What are you doing here?”

Malfoy exhaled heavily. “May I come in?”

Harry glanced back at the Zwei lying on the bedside table next to the uncapped bottle of lube. “It’s not really a good time.”

Malfoy scowled and pushed past him, saying, “It’ll never be a good time if you have your way.” Harry tried to block him but he was wily and ducked around Harry before his brain caught up with the fact that his hotel room was being invaded. “Oh,” he said, upon spotting the strewn clothes, the lube, and the dildo.

Harry shut the door behind him and crossed his arms over his chest. “Yeah, _oh_ , Malfoy. Now what the fuck do you want?” 

Malfoy spun back around, eyes wide. He stared at Harry’s face and then at his hands, his gaze lingering on Harry’s slicked up fingers. Belatedly, Harry wiped them off on his dressing gown, but it was too late. Malfoy was now looking at his groin, still erect, no matter how much Harry didn’t want it to be. Being invaded by Malfoy was precisely what it wanted and now that he was here, his cock was more interested than ever.

Malfoy reached up and started unbuttoning his shirt, his eyes not leaving Harry’s.

“What are you doing?” Harry asked, voice strangled. Malfoy ignored him, and Harry, try as he might, could not look away as each successive button revealed another couple of inches of recently tanned skin. Malfoy shucked off his shirt and stepped up to Harry. His hands came to rest on Harry’s hipbones and Harry tried to convince his mind to jerk away, but it wouldn’t listen. When Malfoy’s fingers curled over his skin, he moaned and stepped up to his body.

“I don’t want you,” Harry murmured. “I can’t.”

“I want _you_ ,” Malfoy said. “I’ve always done.” His fingers toyed at the belt keeping Harry’s dressing gown closed. At once, he tugged on the belt and the bow came undone. The fabric fell aside and Harry’s eyelids lowered. He was mercilessly hard and his brain was screaming at him to punch Malfoy in the face and kick him out, but there was an aching feeling in his chest that seemed to be overruling everything else. 

“Let me,” Malfoy said, and Harry whimpered. 

Why? _Why_ could he not say no to Malfoy? Why had he _never_ been able to?

Harry found himself being pushed back onto his hotel bed, his body exposed. Malfoy crawled on after him, running his hands up Harry’s shins and gently pushing them up until Harry’s already slicked hole was as exposed as the rest of him. Malfoy made a strangled sound in his throat, staring at Harry’s arse like he’d never seen anything more arousing. 

He bent down, engulfing Harry’s prick in his mouth. Harry arched up, gasping. Malfoy groaned around his cock, and then Harry felt two fingers pumping inside of him, making sure he was ready. They retreated, leaving Harry feeling empty, but then he opened his eyes to find Malfoy leaning over him, reaching for the Zwei on the bedside table. 

He sat back, stared at the buttons for a few seconds, and then pressed one. It started to thrust in his hand and Harry groaned. Merlin it would feel so good inside of him. Malfoy smirked down at him as he covered it with lube and lined it up with Harry’s arse. Harry pulled his knees up further, desperate. When the first curved section of it finally slipped inside him, already thrusting, Harry’s vision flared. He fell back against the pillows, his chest heaving, moaning. Malfoy pushed it the rest of the way in and Harry thought he might very well die at that moment, until Malfoy bent down and once again closed his mouth around Harry’s cock.

“Oh god, yes,” Harry said.

Malfoy fiddled with the pulsation patterns until he found one that made Harry arch and keen, and then he let go of the Zwei, letting it thrust in and out of Harry on its own. He pressed his forearms down on Harry’s thighs, not letting him thrust up or squirm at all. He fondled Harry’s bollocks with one hand, holding the base of his cock with the other—and he sucked, expertly. 

The intensity was a thousand times more than Harry had ever felt. He felt like he was on the edge of a really tall cliff, barely hanging onto the edge, and then the pulsator thrust against his prostate and Malfoy sucked hard at the same time, and Harry fell off—and fell and fell and fell and Malfoy did not stop sucking him until he was completely spent and his voice had gone hoarse from screaming.

Malfoy—thank god—turned the pulsator off and was crawling up Harry’s body, his cock in hand as he braced himself with the other over Harry’s chest. His face was screwed up in pleasure and his breathing was shallow as he jerked himself, and then he was tensing up, his balls drawing in, and Harry could only open his mouth and let Malfoy come all over and in him. Hot ropes of come landed on his tongue and chest and everywhere in between, Malfoy groaning wantonly, and it was such a good sound that aftershocks of pleasure shuddered through Harry’s body.

Harry may’ve passed out at some point. When he came back to himself, there were tear-tracks leading down the side of his face and he wondered how an orgasm had brought him to that. Malfoy was lying on the bed next to him still struggling to breathe. Harry levered himself up on his elbows and stared at the white wall of his hotel room. He blinked. 

“Holy fuck,” he finally managed.

Next to him, Malfoy chuckled. “I thought the same thing. You are so fucking hot when you come with something in your arse.”

“It’s the _only_ way I come,” Harry reminded him.

“I know,” Malfoy said, turning to him. His eyes were sparkling and he looked flushed and happy. “But I have a thing for watching someone come on a cock, and you do it so well.”

Harry blushed. 

His common sense started to return then and he looked around for his dressing gown, finding it on the floor. He bent to grab it and Malfoy groaned. Belatedly, he realized he’d just shown his slick arse to him, and hastily wrapped the dressing gown around himself. He turned back to look at Malfoy, unsure of what to say. Merlin, he was so attracted to this man. And he was so funny, and clever, and amazing, and he had a baby son. Harry’d never met a baby he didn’t like. And he made him come so hard that Harry would gladly quit his job just to become Malfoy’s personal sex toy for the rest of his life. 

“So I’m the one for you, right?” Malfoy said, grinning. “Going to pick me?” 

And all of Harry’s ridiculous, pathetic notions of a life together with Malfoy came crashing down. 

“Fuck, Malfoy it’s always about the prize money with you, isn’t it?” Harry said. He picked up Malfoy’s shirt, the same shirt that, coming off, had completely undone Harry. He threw it at him. 

Malfoy gaped at him. “Potter, no—”

“Just leave. Please. For fuck’s sake, just leave.” 

“Harry, wait, I—that’s not—”

Harry couldn’t stand the sound of his name coming from Malfoy’s mouth. Not after this. He shook his head furiously and dove for the en suite, slamming the door behind him. Malfoy banged on the door, calling his name, but Harry threw up a Silencing charm. He stared at his reflection in the mirror, seeing his bloodless skin and the dried tear tracks from his orgasm, and, if he looked hard enough, Harry thought he could see inside himself, to that piece of him that’d wanted so hard to trust Malfoy enough to let him be the one.

When he came out an hour later, his room was dark, and Malfoy was gone.

-x-

Harry stood on the top of the Golden Gate Bridge, broom in one hand, Snitch in the other. The wind buffeted his hair in a thousand different directions, probably not affecting its appearance in any material way. There was so much fog. He couldn’t see what was at the bottom of either end of the bridge, but he knew.

To the north: Hermione and the surety of a good friend. To the south: Malfoy, the unknown, and San Francisco. The programme ended how it began, with flights from a bridge and a big decision. Harry looked south, forehead furrowed in indecision and, really, hurt. 

“Are you ready, Harry?” Luna asked, her voice quieter than usual. He glanced at her, wondering if the panic he felt showed on his face. It must’ve; Luna’s features softened and she took a step towards him, arms reaching out to grab his shoulders. She peered into his eyes, looking for what, Harry had no idea. She smiled. “You’re ready,” she decided.

“I really don’t feel ready,” Harry said. He stared down at his Firebolt, wondering if it would make the decision for him. Hermione had said that he didn’t have to pick someone from this show; he could choose her, go home, and try again without the constant voyeuristic accompaniment of a camera crew. She and Ron could take the prize money and…Harry didn’t know. They both had good jobs, a little house in the London suburbs, and supportive families. 

Or he could go to Malfoy. Something clenched painfully in his chest at that thought. For a while, he’d thought—but no.

But Malfoy needed the galleons for his son. Harry could appreciate that. If he had a son—no. He would never.

Dennis clambered up onto the bridge from where he’d been, strangely, underneath. He got his magicamcorder out and aimed it at Harry’s face, adjusting knobs and buttons and other things. “We ready? This is so exciting! Who are you going to choose, Harry?”

Harry hesitated. “I’ve really no idea.”

“Well, you better be prepared to have a very frank discussion with Ron if you pick Hermione,” said Dennis.

“And you better be prepared to have a very frank discussion with old Mummy Malfoy if you pick Draco,” Miles added, snickering. “She’s very blunt.”

“Either way, a discussion,” Luna added helpfully. 

“Right,” Harry said. 

There were three clicks and Harry saw three red, blinking lights turn on, on three magicamcorders. Luna stepped back, out of the line of sight. Javier and Miles, mounted on brooms, prepared to follow Harry, whatever his choice.

“Action,” Luna whispered.

Harry swallowed heavily. He called up his broom and threw one leg over, hovering in indecision. “I didn’t think it would ever be such a hard decision to choose between my married best friend and someone I’m legitimately attracted to,” Harry said quietly, knowing he was being recorded. By this point, all of wizarding Britain knew more than he’d have ever liked anyway. What more was this one confession?

He kicked off, staring down at the city and the blanket of fog that hid Malfoy from his view. Harry thought of the heady, rushed intimacies between them, the way his heart skipped over beats when Malfoy grinned at him, the way he made him laugh and smile and _want_. 

And then he thought of the way that even if Malfoy really did want him in return, his foremost concern was winning the one million galleon prize. Harry’s mouth hardened. He was worth more than that.

Harry turned his broom to the north, and flew to Hermione. Miles and Javier trailed him, no judgment, no commentary, just silently recording his choice. He was almost to the end of the bridge, close enough that the fog was breaking enough that he could see Hermione standing down there. She looked up at him, and for a moment, her face fell, before she schooled it into a welcoming expression. Harry stopped, hovering in the air, his eyes locked on his best friend. His best friend who, while she hadn’t turned down a free holiday, had no real need for any prize money. Her daughter was well loved, well cared for. Rosie had plenty of family, plenty of toys, plenty of milk, and two parents and a godfather who thought the Sun revolved around her.

Scorpius, on the other hand, had a grandfather in prison, a mother who wasn’t interested in him, and a single father who had willingly chosen to humiliate and sell himself on magicbox to ensure that he could have a chance at the same sort of life that Rosie got by default. 

Hermione smiled up at him as if she could see the thoughts running through his head, and he knew what he had to do. Harry swung his broom around. There were murmurs of startlement from his camera crew, but he ignored them, zooming off to the south end of the bridge, and dipping into the fog below. 

Malfoy was looking the other way, eyes fixed on the city as if he knew he wouldn’t ever have a chance to see anything like it again and wanted to remember it while he could. Harry landed behind him, his trainers thudding against the ground. Malfoy spun around to face him, his expression shocked, before the coolness left his eyes and his mouth started tilting up in a smile.

Harry reached out silently, Snitch in hand. Malfoy stepped forward, his expression turning hesitant again at Harry’s silence. “I pick you,” Harry said, echoing the words from New York. “You win.”

Malfoy’s fingers closed over the Snitch; he looked up at Harry, beaming. There was a moment of stillness and then he jumped on Harry, hugging him tightly, angling his head to kiss Harry thoroughly. Harry kissed him back, his fingers clenching in Malfoy’s shirt and his heart rate accelerating. Merlin, Harry was going to miss this. He already did, in fact. 

Malfoy stepped away from him, still smiling, and Harry pasted one on his own face, for the benefit of viewers. Luna flew in and prompted him for sound bites about his choice, and everything he told them was true: he felt a connection to Malfoy he hadn’t felt with anyone else; he thought Malfoy was gorgeous; he wanted to meet his son; he knew Malfoy could make him happy—

Everything was true except for one little lie: “I can’t wait to take him on a date without the cameras.”

Harry had no intention whatsoever of doing that.

Luna finally ended the filming, and Harry exhaled heavily. He felt like a thousand tonnes had just been lifted from his shoulders. After a few moments, the crew had packed up all their things and Apparated back to the hotel. Harry stood alone with Malfoy, looking at everything but him.

“I didn’t think you’d pick me,” Malfoy said. Harry looked up to find Malfoy still smiling at him. 

He leaned in to kiss Harry again, and Harry took a hasty step back. “I did it for Scorpius,” Harry said. “Not for you.”

Malfoy looked stunned for several, eternal seconds. “What do you mean?”

“We’d never work,” Harry said, swallowing. He looked north again, wishing Hermione was here with him for this, or, even better, that he could just go home without having to say it. “You needed the prize money more than she did, but I can’t trust you. I guess I never could.”

Malfoy shook his head. “But, you—”

Harry firmed his lips, attempting to firm his resolve with it. “Goodbye, Malfoy.” 

He Apparated away, and did not look back.


	7. London

# 7\. London, England

Harry sat at the kitchen table with his chin in one hand, watching his goddaughter not eating. In her high-hover chair, Rosie was scattering Owl-Os everywhere. Harry half-heartedly stole her nose and she giggled, scattering more cereal. 

“Harry,” said Hermione.

Reluctantly, Harry looked up, finding both Hermione and Ron watching him with ill-disguised concern. “What?”

“It’s been two months, mate,” Ron said. 

“And?”

Ron rolled his eyes. “And you’ve got twelve unopened owls, three blocked Floo calls, and an ad in the _Quibbler_. Are you ever going to respond to Malfoy?”

“Why would I?” asked Harry.

This time, Hermione rolled her eyes—a bad habit she’d picked up from Ron roundabouts her second trimester. “Because you liked him, Harry. You still do.”

“I don’t,” Harry said.

“You do,” Ron said, eyebrows raised. “Just answer the stupid git’s owls, Harry. You’re miserable.”

“I’m no worse off than I was before the stupid show, Ron,” Harry bit out. 

“ _Please_ ,” said Ron. “Now you know what you’re missing.”

Harry glared at him. “The only thing I’m missing is three weeks of my life. Thanks for that, by the way.”

“Think nothing of it,” Ron said blithely. He tilted his head, regarding Harry. “You know, don’t think I didn’t notice that money getting deposited to our accounts last Monday. A million galleons doesn’t just slip in unnoticed.”

“Harry, you didn’t,” Hermione said, sighing. “What do we need with that prize money?”

Harry shrugged. “What do _I_ need with it? I’ve got dozens of times that just sitting in Gringotts gathering dust.” 

Rosie started whimpering. “We will talk about this later,” Hermione said sternly, turning to Rosie.

“No, we won’t,” said Harry, standing. “Ron signed me up for this stupid thing and you went with me the whole way. Consider this my retribution. Or Rosie’s gap year fund. Or buy yourself a holiday home in Hawaii; we’ve never been _there_. Or give it to the fucking Knockturn Alley Prettification Project for all I care. I’ve got to go.”

Hermione jumped up, upsetting Rosie’s milk and not bothering to right it. She grabbed Harry’s arm as he stepped towards the Floo. Harry spun around, glowering. She ignored this. “Read your damned owls, Harry.”

Harry scowled at her, jerked his hand away, and stepped into the Floo.

-x-

Harry stared at the fire. It flickered from orange to green and back to orange, over and over, signalling an incoming Floo call. Harry didn’t answer. He rolled his head back towards his newly installed magicbox. Why the fuck had he agreed to getting one? It had been Ron’s idea, before the Stag Shag Show, no doubt meant as preparation for when Harry got back.

So he could watch his series. _Worst best mate in the history of best mates,_ Harry thought sourly. 

As if he’d ever want to watch this disaster. And yet. Harry flicked his wand at the magicbox and it turned on. BWBC Four came on, declaring a marathon showing of all the Stag Shag episodes, and Harry strongly suspected Ron of having set it to this channel while he was at work yesterday. At work without his partner, who was still enjoying paternity leave, five months postnatal. The Ministry had an excellent benefits programme, if nothing else.

The Mykonos episode was on and the camera was currently following Malfoy and Michael Corner around as they searched for clues to Harry’s heart in Delos. 

_‘At Isis’ zenith layeth the lightest and most uncomplicated of Harry’s loves,’_ Malfoy read from his parchment. The camera zoomed in in time to catch him rolling his eyes. He and Corner stared up at the top of the Temple of Isis before pulling a broom from his pocket and unshrinking it. It was the same Nimbus he’d ridden all through Hogwarts. Harry would know it anywhere.

 _‘Well, you know it’s up there. Let’s just go, Corner.’_ They mounted their brooms and flew up to the pointed top of the temple, where Malfoy found a single white feather with a note attached. 

_‘What do you suppose that means?’_ Michael asked. _‘It’s just a quill.’_

_‘It’s not a quill, you f——ing idiot. It’s a feather from a snow owl. Merlin f——, how did you even make it through Hogwarts?’_

Harry laughed before he could stop himself. He watched them decipher the note and start making their way over to the lion statues where Harry’d been waiting, and then it cut in to Dune and Titus finding _The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore_ beneath a fold of a dress in a statue at the House of Cleopatra. Then to a sound bite of Malfoy in the green room talking about how stupid Corner was for thinking the feather was a quill because _‘When does Potter ever use a quality quill? I’ve never seen him with anything other than a sh— biro or one of those cheap Merlin-f——ing quills from the bargain bin at Scrivenshaft’s.’_

Two hours later, Harry was still curled up on his couch, cup of tea going cold in one hand, tear-tracks streaming down his face from laughing so hard at the green room after Mykonos eliminations, when Luna asked Malfoy how he felt to still be in the running. _‘Like maybe Potter has some sense after all, which is a f——ing relief, let me tell you, Lovegood, because I’m going to win this f——ing contest and then I’m going to ——— and finger —— Potter so hard that he f——ing —— like the godd—— Hogwarts Express all over my face and then…’_

 _‘But how does it feel in your heart, Draco?’_ Luna prodded from somewhere behind the camera. 

_‘Oh,’_ said Malfoy. He paused, thinking. He smiled, as though he were trying hard not to but couldn’t help himself. _‘I think he would be a good influence on my son. I feel like I could trust him enough to_ let _him be an influence, and I’ve never felt like that about anyone else before except my Mum.’_

“Oh,” Harry said to his empty living room. The scene cut away to a view of the beautiful blue waters around the island, with a sound bite of Harry talking shit about Ron liking to swim in the nude. It was a complete lie, but he’d thought Ron deserved it at the time. And then his doorbell rang. Wiping his eyes, Harry muted the magicbox, tightened his blanket around himself and padded down the hallway to open the door. 

On his doorstep stood Malfoy. But he wasn’t alone. Next to him was a hover pram and there was a tiny blond baby inside it. He was sleeping, but Harry could tell that he was perfect and adorable just like Rosie. And he looked about five months, just like Rosie. They could even be friends, Harry thought, and was immediately annoyed with himself.

“That’s not fair,” Harry said. “You brought him.”

Malfoy didn’t even have the decency to look abashed. “You wouldn’t answer my owls. Or Floos. Or even the Lonely Hearts ad I put in the _Quibbler_.”

Harry scowled. “Maybe that should’ve been a hint for you then.”

Malfoy looked away, inhaling deeply, and then turned back to Harry. “May I come in?” 

Harry sighed. He looked at the baby again, feeling his pathetic, unused parental instinct flaring up. “I suppose so.” 

He stood back from the door and let Malfoy come through, Scorpius hovering ahead of him. Once they were all installed in the living room with tea and biscuits, Harry noticed the direction of Malfoy’s gaze and blushed fiercely. The Barcelona episode was just starting, and Harry remembered _very_ clearly what happened in Barcelona. 

Malfoy looked back at him, eyes bright. “Is this the first time you’ve watched the series?”

Harry nodded. Malfoy looked back the magicbox again, absently rocking Scorpius in his pram. “It gets very—intense,” he said. “Towards the end. It’s…” He broke off, shaking his head, and when he looked at Harry again, Harry felt it like an arrow. “I couldn’t watch the San Francisco episode. I don’t know if it’s how they edited it or if we’re really just—that way, but god, Potter.” He stood up and came to stand before Harry, looking fragile and unsure of himself.

“What?” Harry heard himself saying, as if from far away.

Malfoy crouched down in front of him. His hands came to rest cautiously on Harry’s knees, sending a shockwave of fluttering sensations up Harry’s spine. “Potter, I came to bring you this.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a Gringotts account statement. “I just wanted you to know that…it wasn’t for me. The money was never for me.”

And then he stood up, gathered Scorpius’ pram, and saw himself out the door. Harry stared at the spot where he’d been. On the other side of the room, the Barcelona cityscape panned silently across the screen of his magicbox.

-x-

It took Harry two days to sack up enough to open the Gringotts vault statement, and that was mostly due to the fact that Ron was over with Rosie and had somehow managed to manoeuver her sippy cup so that when she—inevitably—knocked it over, it leaked onto the parchment. Harry snatched it up, shaking the juice out and despairing at the fact that it’d already soaked through.

“Guess you’ll just have to open it now before it glues itself closed forever,” Ron said, chewing on Harry’s last ginger newt. He didn’t bother to use one of his amazing parent spells that would’ve got juice stains out of anything. Surely he and Hermione had at least twelve memorized by now.

Harry scowled at him and unrolled the vault statement. There was a very small balance, a single credit of one million galleons, and three debits: a 2,000 galleon contract fee for two house-elves who agreed to bind themselves to the Manor for its upkeep, and a single purchase of 512 galleons at the Diagon Alley location of Wittle Wizards, the toys and baby supplies shop that Ron and Hermione were always in these days. Rosie had the full collection of _Wittle Witch Weird Weaders_ , which Harry didn’t think was a great name for a reader, but whatever. He hadn’t been consulted. The final debit was a transfer of 997,488 galleons to the secured trust of Scorpius H Malfoy. 

There was a note at the bottom in Malfoy’s sharp hand, confirming that no one could access Scorpius’ trust except Scorpius himself on or after his seventeenth birthday. _It was never for me,_ he wrote. And then below it, the Floo password for Malfoy Manor.

“What’s it say then?” asked Ron. Rosie’s juice was, miraculously, now cleaned up.

“It says you’re a wanker,” Harry muttered.

Ron nodded. “Coming from Malfoy, I believe it. How about the rest of it?”

“He gave the prize money to Scorpius. Well, he got some house-elves and baby stuff first, but then he put the rest in Scorpius’ trust.”

“That’s what Hermione ended up doing, since the goblins told her you’d put a freeze on deposits to your account. She was pissed off about that, by the way.”

“Good,” Harry said. 

Ron rolled his eyes. “Go on, Harry. Rosie and I can entertain ourselves while you go get your ferret.” He scrunched his nose. “Although it pains me to think of you getting off on Malfoy’s prick.”

“Don’t then,” Harry said. “No one’s asking you to think about it.”

“Hard not to,” Ron said. He’d somehow found another pack of ginger newts and had already worked his way through half of them. Rosie was nibbling on another, making a face. “You and he practically buggered one another for four cities, mate. By the way, I’ve been meaning to ask, did something happen in Barcelona? Because after that episode you were—”

Harry gaped at him. “Seriously? You could tell all that?”

Ron gagged. “I was hoping it wasn’t true. Anyway, you haven’t watched that episode yet?”

“No,” Harry admitted. 

Ron’s eyebrows went way up. “Might want to. It was—intense.”

“Why do I keep hearing that?” Harry muttered. Ron rolled his eyes again and then dove into a review of every Cannons match Harry’d missed during his tour of the world. He left shortly after five when Hermione was due home from work, and Harry, left to his own devices once more, was bored enough to turn on the magicbox. There was, as luck would have it, another marathon going.

He’d missed the Barcelona episode, but the Rio one was just starting. Harry watched the camera pan the city and then cut to a few scenes of the beach at Copacabana, and then there was a shot of Malfoy at the Portkey Arrivals Terminal, his bag slung over one shoulder as he steadied himself on the handrail.

 _Two days before this shot, Malfoy came in my mouth,_ Harry thought. Malfoy raked his fingers through his hair and Harry couldn’t look away. Malfoy’s eyes kept cutting to Harry, who, on screen, looked both nervous and…sort of happy, really. Beneath all the long-sufferance. Harry leaned forward just as the camera angle changed to a close up of Harry glancing at Malfoy out of the corners of his eyes before quickly looking away again.

And it didn’t stop there. At some point, Kreacher brought Harry a cup of tea but it went cold long before Harry noticed it. Harry talked to the other contenders and they were interviewed in the green rooms by Luna or the cameramen, but the quantity of their screen time could in no way compete with the way Harry and Malfoy just seemed to be drawn to one another. Harry had not realised it was so—

 _Intense_.

But now he couldn’t unsee it, and watching it from this perspective, like a Pensieve memory, it pulled at his heart even more than it had to experience it first hand. The New York City episode was horrible; he didn’t know if his memory contributed to it, but the tension in the episode was painful and unrelieving and Harry suspected that everyone in wizarding Britain knew that he and Malfoy had had a falling out between arriving in New York and departing it. 

The sadness he’d felt in San Francisco was even more profound caught from this objective perspective. The cameras didn’t have their own emotions; they just recorded what was there, and while there were some funny scenes, such as Harry tipping his head at Hermione’s sex toy purchases and smirking at the camera, they in no way overshadowed the deep, penetrating instability that was woven through Harry and Malfoy. It was like watching someone else’s life fall apart and it _hurt_.

When the episode ended, with Harry’s fake happiness at choosing Malfoy, he sat there staring at the magicbox screen, watching the credits roll. There was an advert for Wittle Wizards newest line of smart baby toys but all Harry could think about was how startled and amazed and _happy_ Malfoy had looked when Harry gave him the Snitch.

 _I had that,_ Harry thought, feeling shattered. _And I threw it away_. 

He stood up abruptly, teacup crashing on the floor as it fell from his knee, cold tea spreading everywhere. Somehow he managed to find a t-shirt and a pair of shoes to put on with his jeans before stepping up to the Floo and calling out Malfoy Manor. The flames turned green and sparked, waiting for the password, and Harry, swallowing, said, “Familia Primum,” and stepped into the flames.

-x-

Malfoy was sitting at his desk, legs propped up, one hand holding open a sketchy novel, the other absently rocking Scorpius’ cot. He looked up as the flames rose and his eyes widened when Harry stepped out.

Malfoy jumped up, absently flicking a rocking spell at Scorpius’ cot when he whimpered. “Potter,” he said. He took a hesitant step around the desk. “Harry.”

Harry looked around the office, forehead wrinkling with indecision. It was always easier to start something than it was to finish it. Gryffindor rashness only took one so far, and sometimes the bravery never kicked in. “I don’t know why—I just. I watched San Francisco,” he said. He looked to Malfoy, desperate for a reaction.

Malfoy walked the rest of the way around the desk. “How was it?” he asked quietly.

Harry shook his head. “Fucking awful.”

Malfoy continued looking at him, saying nothing. Harry noticed that his breathing sounding rushed and he wondered if Malfoy was feeling just as raw and exposed as he did. “I knew,” Harry said. “But I didn’t really _know_. Not until I saw it. I thought it was just me who felt it.”

Malfoy shook his head. “No. I told you.”

“I _know_ ,” Harry said, spinning around and grabbing at his hair with both hands. He paced over to the door and then back, too restless to stand still, to stand next to Malfoy. “I know,” he said again. “But I didn’t see it. Not until—not until I watched. It’s like a Pensieve, these magicboxes. Have you realised? It gives you distance, lets you see things you don’t want to let yourself see when you’re there. Things you’re afraid of seeing.”

“I know,” Malfoy said. “But I saw it before, too.”

Harry turned and strode back over to him. “I see it now,” he said. He grabbed Malfoy’s waist and pulled him closer. “Is it too late?”

Malfoy hesitated for so long that Harry knew he’d lost him. He began to pull away, but Malfoy made a strangled sound in his throat and dove forward, pressing his mouth against Harry’s. Harry kissed him back, pouring everything he had into it. Somehow he managed to walk them backwards until Malfoy was lying back on his desk and Harry was kissing his mouth and jaw and the delicate space behind his ear. 

“Don’t let me leave,” Harry whispered. “It’s you. It’s always been you.”

“I won’t,” Malfoy said. “I know.”

Harry ran his fingers up Malfoy’s arms, over the sharp ridge of his clavicle, to the delicate, stubbled skin of his neck and jawline. He leaned up, curling his fingers into Malfoy’s soft blond hair. Malfoy stared back up at him, face flushed, eyes heavy-lidded, but open—so very open for Harry. 

“Draco,” Harry murmured. He leaned down and kissed him again, slower this time. “Pick me.”

Malfoy swallowed, and Harry knew they were both remembering that moment when he’d said the same words to Harry. “I will,” he said. “I always will.”

**The End**

**Author's Note:**

> If so inclined, please leave a comment here or at [LiveJournal](http://dracotops-harry.livejournal.com/278425.html).
> 
> FOLLOW ME ON TUMBLR for snippets, what I'm working on next, and to ask me anything :) [lol-zeitgeistic on Tumblr](http://lol-zeitgeistic.tumblr.com/)


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